


Restitution

by randomcheeses



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Adventure, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-12
Updated: 2010-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 99,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomcheeses/pseuds/randomcheeses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the end of Conqueror of Shamballa, Roy Mustang ends up somewhere unexpected</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gate

Restitution. _n._ (i) The act of restoring to the rightful owner something that has been taken away, lost, or surrendered.

(ii) The act of making good or compensating for loss, damage, or injury.

###

Corporal (formerly Brigadier General) Roy Mustang was having a spectacularly bad day. A few hours ago, he'd arrived back in Central to find the city being attacked by invaders from another world. Then FullMetal had turned up. But no surprise there. The pipsqueak was always involved when things were going disastrously wrong.

With Mustang's help, FullMetal and Alphonse had driven back the invaders and then pursued them through the gate to their own world in order to seal the gate on that side. Before he'd let go of Alphonse so that the boy could follow his annoyingly self-sacrificing brother (_when had the short tempered kid got so mature anyway? Or so much taller? Not that the shrimp wasn't still short for his age_), Mustang had promised Al that he'd take care of sealing the gate on this side so that the boy could go after FullMetal with a clear conscience.

So after descending back to the ground on the alchemised material that Edward had provided (which had lost it's floatation abilities when the Corporal (_Brig. General!)_ had still been quite a few feet above the ground, meaning he'd landed in an undignified heap, viciously twisting his ankle, _thanks a lot FullMetal_) he'd immediately headed down to the underground city to close the side of the gate which led to Amestris. That was when his current problems had begun.

Down in the chilling mausoleum that was the ancient city, Mustang had decided that the best way to take out the infernal gate was the biggest explosion he could manage. It would be quick and there would be no need to endanger anyone else by needlessly exposing them to the gate. Who knew how dangerous the damn thing might be. It_ had_ spit out the FullMetal midget, after all.

So Mustang, alone in a citywide graveyard, had adjusted the circle on his ignition gloves for maximum effect and then snapped his fingers. Fire roared, the ground trembled, and then the gate started to crack. He snapped again. More fire poured forth and the ground shook again. Nearby buildings started to crumble. The cracks in the gate grew bigger, spidering out from the centre. The more the cracks advanced, the more the light coming from the centre of the gate brightened.

Mustang took this as a good sign. Raising both hands, he snapped again, a final blow to the square, blocky gate between worlds that sat at the centre of the ruined city.

The gate cracked again. Then, in a shower of rubble and bright white light, it exploded. That was when, for Roy Mustang, everything went black.

###

When he opened his one good eye, Mustang found himself surrounded by the white light of the gate. He managed to get up on his knees, his hands flat on the bright ground surrounding him. His head was swimming and he felt dizzy with nausea. Unable to lift his head, he stayed on his hands and knees and concentrated on continuing to breathe.

Then he heard the whispering. Childish voices just beyond the cusp of hearing muttering in his ears. Mustang did his best to ignore the nausea and lifted his head up with a groan. He immediately regretted it. The sight in front of him made his nausea return at full force, while simultaneously making his mouth go dry with horror.

The Gate was in front of him. The real Gate, the Gate of Truth, which had stolen Alphonse's body and ripped off Edward's arm and leg when they'd tried to bring back their mother. It was right in front of him, all Gothic and evil looking and he could barely move, he felt so weak and sick. And now it was opening, the most ominous creak he'd ever heard issuing from it as the giant black doors slowly swung open.

Mustang lifted his hands to snap and promptly fell flat on his face in front of the source of all alchemy. Too weak to try lifting them again, he desperately racked his brain for something, _anything_ that he could do to stop whatever was contained within the Gate from ripping him to bits and consuming him. He came up with nothing. The doors swung open and pairs of eyes in various sizes stared out at him. Thin black spaghetti arms reached out to caress his face. Mustang shuddered violently and retched, the smell of his vomit filling the air.

_This is it, _he thought, _I'm going to die. _More arms reached out, twining around his body like cats against their owner._ They'll rip me to bits, _Mustang thought distantly, as he was swarmed with tiny black arms, now covering his one good eye along with most of the rest of his body. The arms tightened and began to pull. The whispering intensified, the evil childish voices sounding ever more excited, though the Flame Alchemist was still unable to make out exactly what was being said.

His mouth was still uncovered and Mustang realised that though he was going to die, he still had time for some last words. If he didn't say something now then the last thing he'd ever said would be the undignified cry of "oh hell! Crap, damn! Yeowwch!" which he'd uttered upon falling from the remains of the otherworldly airship and twisting his ankle. _No. Really. Thanks a lot FullMetal. You little jerk._

He opened his mouth, grimacing in pain as the little black hands continued to pull at him. Then he took as deep a breath as they allowed and said "To hell with Equivalent Exchange. I help FullMetal save the world twice from Homunculi and a crazy woman from another world and this is the ending I get? The hell with that!"

Drawing up the last of the strength in his ailing body, Mustang freed his fingers and snapped.

Fire roared, burning Mustang and the Gatelings alike. Bright light flared.

###

_Bright light surrounded him. He lay on his back, floating in endless whiteness, serene and content. The whispering voices had gone away and now there was only him, alone in the brightness. He was at peace. _

_A thought occurred to the man. _'Wait a minute. If this is the afterlife, then where the hell is Hughes and his camera?'

_For a brief moment he was bothered, upset, but then the serenity came back and he relaxed, content once more. He shook his head briefly. What was a 'Hughes' anyway? Why did it matter? Nothing mattered. _

_Nothing mattered as long as he could stay here, floating forever in the soothing brightness. _

_As he continued to lie there a voice reached his ears. A woman's voice, soothing and gentle. "Roy," it said. _

_The man ignored it. It did not matter. _

_The voice grew insistent. "Roy Mustang. Wake up, Our saviour."_

_He ignored it again, shutting his eyes. Something about that bothered him, something about. . . being able to see with both eyes. . . _

_He dismissed the thought and began to drift into sleep._

_The woman's voice grew more insistent. "Wake up Brigadier General Roy Mustang. Wake up Flame Alchemist!"_

_The title sparked something in his brain and the man's eyes snapped open as he sprang upright. Serenity and contentedness drained away. The man's normal personality returned. _

"_Where the hell am I?" he yelled in shock. "And since when do I have two working eyes?"_

_A woman's laughter sounded behind him and he spun on his heel, facing his company. The outline of a woman, surrounded by blue light like that produced by a transmutation, faced him. _

_"Where am I?" he demanded again. _

_The woman-shape blurred for a moment and then spoke. "You are within Us. We apologise for Our mistake. We had thought you were just another sacrifice for Our children. We did not realise you had been Our saviour. We thank you for destroying the abomination that was a pale shadow of Us. It was destroying Us."_

_"I'm in the Gate. . ." the alchemist breathed in horror._

_The woman-shape laughed. "Indeed. That is what you call Us. But We are so much more than a mere threshold. We uphold Equivalent Exchange. And now you are owed. For destroying the abomination We gift you with your heart's desire."_

_"My. . . heart's desire. . ." the man said shakily. _

_"Yes." the woman-Gate said. "But you may not realise it at first. Humans are so often unaware of what they truly desire. Rest assured, what We give to you is all you ever wanted."_

_"Pretty generous of you." the soldier muttered sceptically. _

_"No," the woman-Gate said simply, "only equivalence. You are owed. The other is owed. You shall both be repaid."_

_"The other?" the dark-haired man questioned. "Who's the other?"_

_The woman-Gate came closer. The man swore he could see the suggestion of a smile on her blank face. "That is not for you to know at this time, handsome Alchemist. Can you even recall who _you_ are?"_

_The man stepped back in shock, his eyes widening. Who was he? He had known. She had called him something only moments ago. He struggled to remember, but the brightness of this ethereal place was washing it away._

_"Who am I?" the man whispered to himself. Desperately he tried to remember something, snapping his fingers in agitation as he did so. _

_Fire flared at his finger tips, burning like a torch. Memories sparked and rushed back. The man straightened, like a soldier standing to attention. Yes, he thought, Major, Lieutenant Colonel, Colonel (bastard?), Brigadier General, Corporal? He decided particular rank didn't matter right now. He knew who he was._

_The raven-haired man looked the woman-Gate in the face. _

_He smirked. "I'm Roy Mustang. The Flame Alchemist. Now pay up what you owe me!"_

_The woman-Gate shimmered and disappeared. "Very well," her voice said, echoing in his ears. "You have helped to save Us. We send you to your reward."_

_Bright light flared again. _

###

The first thing Mustang noticed upon waking up was that fields surrounded him. In fact he was lying in a field, surrounded by flowers and covered by the shade of a tree. _Definitely not in Central then_, he thought_. How the hell did I get here? And why does my ankle hurt so much? Oww. What the hell happened?_

Pushing himself up on his elbows, the dark-haired Alchemist took stock of his situation. _Okay. #1: I am in a field. There are fields as far as the eyes can see. #2:My ankle hurts like crap. Recent memory indicates that this is FullMetal's fault, the diminutive pest. #3: I remember destroying the gate underneath Central, then waking up here. Must find out what happened in between. #4: My eye is back. What the hell? The doctors pulled the remains of it out! They offered to let me take it home in a jar! (Weirdoes.) How'd I get it back?_

Stock taking done, Mustang decided he could stand to take few minutes to relax in a field of flowers on a pleasantly warm day. He had just saved the world, right? He could afford half-an-hour to get his breath back and wait for the pain in his ankle to subside. Then he'd limp to the nearest train station and get back to Central. Problem solved to his satisfaction, Roy gave a relieved sigh and lay back down, enjoying the slight breeze in his hair and the warm sunlight on his face.

Roy's quiet solitude was interrupted mere moments later by a child's shriek of pain and fright. Startled, the Flame Alchemist bolted upright and looked around. He spotted the source of the shriek immediately. A small child in blue was sobbing on the ground next to the stone wall encircling the field. By the looks of it, the child had been walking along the top of the wall and fallen off when it had hit an uneven patch of stone.

Getting to his feet, the dark-haired man limped over to the child. "Hey there kiddo," he said gently, "are you alright?"

Upon hearing the stranger's voice, the child curled up into a ball, muddy hands over the top of its head, staining the messy blond hair.

"Go 'way!" the child wailed hysterically, "Mommy says I don't talk to strangers, or she wash my mouth wif' soap. I do' want soap!"

Normally a statement like that would have been enough to make Mustang back off. He wasn't that experienced with kids, his sole contact with them being FullMetal, who'd been his subordinate and completely capable of taking care of himself and his brother, and Elysia, who he'd never seen in a bad mood, given that Maes had always been able to keep his beloved daughter smiling.

But this was different. The crying -_girl,_ he guessed- might be injured and there was no one else as far as the eye could see. Roy couldn't just leave her alone where she was. It was too dangerous. He wondered why the kid was out here on her own in the first place. She looked about three, maybe four. _Who'd let a toddler out on their own?_ Mustang thought. _Maes would be appalled._

Hunkering down next to the child, Mustang held out a hand. "Hi there, my name's Roy. What's yours?" he asked.

The child shook her head. "Not s'posed to talk to strangers!" she declared vehemently, staring at her scraped knees. "Owww," she moaned.

"If you know my name, then we're not really strangers are we?" Mustang tried. "How about you show me where you live okay? I'll bet your Mom's worried about you."

The child seemed to think about this, it's blond head cocked slightly to one side. "I can't," she disagreed. "My little bruvver's sick. Mom said to go play outside, so's I don' get sick too. But now I'm lost! I didn' mean to walk so far!"

_Pretty impressive dialogue for a toddler, _Mustang thought. _Must be a smart kid._

"Okay," Mustang said, taking charge, "how 'bout you and me walk until we see a house? I'll bet your neighbours will be able to help you get home."

This suggestion seemed to please the child. The little blond head nodded and muddy hands were extended towards the uniformed man in the universal 'pick-me-up' gesture. "My legs 're sore Mister Roy," the child informed him, finally looking the dark-haired Alchemist in the face. "Can you carry me? Pleeease?"

The child's request was totally lost on Mustang as he stared in shock at the little _boy_ who was looking trustingly up at him with big golden eyes.

"FullMetal?"

The little boy looked curiously at Mustang, wondering why the man looked like he had when he'd found out where milk came from. "Mister," he said, tugging on the dark-haired man's navy-blue pants. "Mister, are you okay? Wha's a fullmetal?"


	2. Ed

Roy spent a full minute and a half staring at the boy in shock, before his brain caught up with him and pointed out that FullMetal was eighteen, not four. The child's resemblance to him, as remarkable as it was, was just a coincidence.

_Oh? _Said a voice in the back of his head, as he knelt and picked up the child, who cooed happily at him. _Pure coincidence? The kid has golden eyes. The only people you've ever met with eyes like that were FullMetal and Hohenheim of Light. The kid even looks like FullMetal did the first time you met him. Only smaller. And with more limbs._

That doesn't mean he's connected to them though, he argued with himself as he began to walk towards the road.

_Oh please! Like you really believe that, _the nagging voice said.

Roy scowled inwardly. The nagging voice was right. The resemblance was just too uncanny. Somehow the child in his arms was connected to Edward Elric. He looked curiously at the little boy as a thought struck him. Hohenheim Elric had abandoned his sons more than ten years ago before returning briefly. Had he had other children in that time? Was the boy in Roy's arms Edward's and Alphonse's little brother? Unless. . .

Roy shook his head to clear it of the ridiculous thought that had just occurred to him. Edward had been far too focused on finding the philosopher's stone to think about things like _that._ The child did look just about young enough to belong to the eighteen year old Ed, but. . . no. Definitely not. If the People's Alchemist had got a girl pregnant it would have been all over Amestris within weeks.

Besides, the child had mentioned a younger brother too. That made the Hohenheim possibility much more probable. And _that_ made Mustang fume inwardly. Had the man lived with another woman while his sons waited for him to come home and his wife grew ill? Had he abandoned this little boy and his brother and mother the way he'd abandoned Trisha Elric, Edward and Alphonse? Didn't he understand what a gift being able to have a family was?

"Are you okay Mister Roy?"

The child's worried voice cut through Mustang's furious thoughts and he realised with a jolt that he'd been scowling angrily at the landscape. With an effort, he schooled his features into calm and smiled down at the boy.

"I'm fine, little one. Do you think you can tell me which way your house is from here?"

The child frowned and pointed vaguely in the direction of a nearby hill and Mustang nodded to him. "Right, then!" he announced grandly, making the child giggle, "time to get going, little one!"

"Ed."

"W-what?" Mustang stammered uncharacteristically.

"My name is Ed," the child said flatly. "No' li'l one. I'm six."

Mustang nearly dropped the boy. "Ed?" he choked, sheer shock closing up his throat.

The boy smiled and patted Roy's head in approval, his small sticky hands leaving mud trails in the man's jet-black hair. "Ed." he repeated. "Is short for Edward," he explained to the stunned alchemist. "Is Roy short f'r an'ting?"

For once in his life the Flame Alchemist was lost for words.

###

Half an hour later, having recovered from the initial shock, Mustang had a pretty good theory worked out. It was not a theory that made one Hohenheim of Light look very good. In fact it made Mustang want to strangle the man. After he set him on fire. Repeatedly.

As far as Roy could tell, given the amazing resemblance between them, little Ed was probably the half brother of FullMetal, born several years after Hohenheim had abandoned his first family for whatever reason. Inquiries to little Ed about the name of his brother had produced the shocking but half expected response 'his names Awphonse, bu' everybody jus' caws him Al'.

Therefore, as far as Roy could put together, Hohenheim had effectively replaced his first family, to the point of recycling his children's names. Currently Roy was doing his best to keep the utter disgust he felt off of his face, so as not to scare little Ed. _After all_, he reminded himself as he trudged along the road with the child in his arms, _it's not his fault his father was such a bastard he used the kids as replacements for their older brothers. _

Mustang turned his face to the sky so that little Ed couldn't see his expression and scowled. _Huh, and FullMetal always called him a bastard too, _he thought. _Hope the kid never actually found out how right he was. _The Flame Alchemist desperately hoped there was another, better explanation for the similarity in looks and names between this boy and his younger brother and the Elric siblings. But he couldn't see it.

The dark-haired alchemist sighed to himself, shifting around the child he was holding into a better position as he approached the top of the hill. The golden-haired boy laughed and patted the man's shoulder. He seemed fascinated with the metal stars that were sewn into the dark blue fabric of the man's uniform (_thank you Hawkeye for getting me a Brig. General's jacket at short notice, _Roy thought) and kept tracing the outline of them.

"Why you got stars, Mister Roy?" the child asked the man carrying him.

Mustang unconsciously let his habitual dealing-with-FullMetal-smirk form on his lips. "Because I am a very important man, little Ed."

The boy promptly shrieked in fury. "I'm not little! I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!"

The former General couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing at the sudden display of pure _Edward_-ness. Puzzled by his reaction, the boy stopped shrieking. He began to laugh too, unsure of what his new friend found so funny, but laughing at it anyway.

###

Eventually, the two calmed down from the after effects of Ed's little outburst. Mustang leaned against a wall beside the road in order to rest his injured ankle, which was now aching from the effort of carrying the child up the hill. The newly labelled 'young Ed' sat on top of the wall so that he could look around for his house. A few minutes later, the child located it near the bottom of the hill and pointed it out to the uniformed man.

Roy nodded in satisfaction, the short rest having helped the pain in his ankle somewhat, and swung young Ed onto his back. The boy squealed in delight at the piggyback ride and clamped his muddy little hands tightly on the alchemist's shoulders. Mustang made a mental note to have his uniform washed and ironed as soon as possible. Returning to Central with mud all over him would not impress anyone and would hardly provide the 'Conquering Hero' image he'd need to project.

Two years in self-imposed exile on the Drachma border had put a serious dent in Mustang's plans to become Fuhrer. In fact, after the strange disappearance of his short-tempered subordinate those plans had collapsed altogether. Thanks to Hawkeye's quick thinking and assistance, no one knew that the Flame Alchemist had been the one to kill King Bradley, a fact that, if known, would have gotten him executed post-haste

(Although there was the possibility that a military tribunal would have thought him insane, seeing as the core of his defence would've been 'the Fuhrer was a Homunculus, honest!' and given him life imprisonment instead.)

Instead he'd gotten out of there alive, if wounded, (he still wasn't sure how his eye had miraculously grown back, but he wasn't complaining) and resigned his rank as Brigadier General, re-entering the army as an enlisted man. Mustang had lost his drive, lacking even the desire to use his Alchemy.

But things were different now. Seeing FullMetal and his brother alive and well had reinvigorated Mustang. He'd used his Alchemy again, had felt more alive than he had done in months. Mustang had no doubts that the invasion of Central and Liore had surprised the government and shaken the country. It was the perfect time for an ambitious military man to take control and Mustang, as the 'Hero of Central' did not plan on letting another King Bradley take power. Roy had sacrificed too much to bring down the last tyrant and did not intend on letting another one replace him.

Young Ed's cry of delight once again brought Mustang back to the present, as he finally stopped in front of a white gate beyond which lay a tidy garden and a neat little house. "Momma!" the boy yelled, wriggling to get down from Roy's back and go to the pretty woman in the garden in front of them.

Mustang obliged the boy by depositing him back on the ground and then moved forward curiously to get a good look at the woman who was the mother of FullMetal's probable half-brothers. As the woman turned in response to the child's cry, he leaned forward on the white gatepost. Opening his mouth to greet her, his jaw dropped and the words died in his throat.

Mustang had found out about the circumstances surrounding the Fuhrer's secretary after Bradley's death, so he recognised the woman hugging the golden-haired boy immediately.

He was looking at Trisha Elric.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Roy Mustang passed out.

###

When he awoke, the tall, dark-haired man found himself in a small bedroom. It was furnished plainly, with only a table and chair in the corner. Light and air streamed through a small open window in one wall, with a door opposite.

Mustang attempted to sit up, only to have nausea swamp him, so he accepted temporary defeat and rested his head on the comfortable pillows. He noticed with gratitude that someone had placed an ice pack on his ankle and treated the few scratches he'd picked up when destroying the gate.

Thinking of the gate led him to wonder where exactly he was. Probably in little Ed's home, he knew, but beyond that he wasn't sure. He remembered the panorama of fields visible from the hilltop. That suggested he was somewhere in Eastern Amestris. He thought about that. Why would the backlash from the destruction of the gate leave him all the way out here, relatively uninjured (better off than he had been in the case of his eye,) and coincidentally in close proximity to his former subordinates' possible half-brother?

Mustang let out a small groan. Trying to remember exactly what had happened was giving him a headache. Regardless, he tried again. There had been his last powerful attack on the gate, an explosion of bright white light and then unconsciousness, followed by his awaking in a field of flowers yards from where little Ed had been playing. Roy thought about this. Perhaps the child had seen something. . . Maybe he could ask young Ed when he got up, provided his mother didn't mind.

Roy froze as the thought hit him._ His mother!_

The woman in the garden had been the spit image of Trisha Elric. Dizziness and confusion whirled in the dark-haired alchemist's head as he tried to work out how that was possible. It couldn't be FullMetal's mother. That was for sure. The poor woman was long dead and by all accounts FullMetal had done a thorough job of dispatching the Homunculus that resembled her. _So how. . . _he thought, utterly confused.

Lying back on the bed and trying to quell his rising nausea, Mustang eventually decided that he hadn't seen little Edward's mother properly. The small bandage on his forehead suggested that he'd suffered a head wound when destroying the gate, but hadn't noticed it till now. _Yes, that makes sense, _Roy thought. _Seeing the kid was a shock in itself, the way he looks so much like FullMetal. Head wound must've made me subconsciously hallucinate Mrs. Elric. After all I was technically expecting to see _Edward's _mother. Got my Ed's mixed up. _

Satisfied with this rationale, Mustang made a second attempt to sit up. Yet again, he collapsed from vertigo and a little nausea, this time making an audible thump against the pillows. The noise attracted attention and Mustang heard the door creak as someone opened it a crack. Two pairs of curious eyes peeped into the room and Roy's heart compressed painfully when he saw the gold and grey eyes of the two small boys. _Even the younger Alphonse looks just like the Alphonse I know, _he thought. _How can that be?_

"Mister Roy?" said a small voice, "are you waked up yet?"

"He still looks sleepy to me, bruvver," said a new voice. The owner of the new voice sneezed.

_Brother_

Roy couldn't help it. A tear leaked from his eye as he heard 'young Alphonse' call his sibling by that title. How many times had he heard Alphonse-In-Armour call FullMetal that? A hundred? A thousand? And now he was hearing their possible younger half-siblings do the same. This latest impossibility on top of all the stress he'd suffered today made the former General want to cry.

"Mister Roy?" little Edward said again.

Mustang waved a hand over the edge of the bed. "Hey kiddo," he said in a cracked whisper, his throat suddenly painfully dry. "Could you get me some water, maybe?"

Young Ed nodded enthusiastically at Roy and then turned to his sibling. "Go get Mom Al," he instructed. Al raced off, his light footsteps pounding on the wooden floor. Edward also disappeared briefly, before coming back with a brightly coloured cup and handing it to Roy. It bore the slogan 'World's Best Mom'.

As he tried to lift the cup to his mouth, Mustang realised that with his head still spinning from the slightest movement he was probably going to spill the water all over himself. Young Ed seemed to realise this too and quickly took the cup off of him.

"I howd it f'r you, 'kay?" he asked.

"Okay," Mustang agreed, "thanks Edward."

"Ed" the child corrected him. "On'y Mom caws me Edward, an' on'y when she's mad."

"Ed" Mustang repeated obediently. Young Ed rewarded him with a few gulps of water and then patted his head softly. Then he pulled the cup away and placed it on the table. "Too much'd make you sick," he informed the tall man.

Roy smiled gratefully at the six year old. "Thanks Ed."

Young Ed smiled back at him and tried to smooth down the alchemist's dark hair with his small hands. "Your head feel better now, Mister Roy?" he asked.

Mustang managed a tiny nod as he replied, "Yes thanks." Young Ed beamed at him. "Oh good. You scared Al and Mom when you hit d'Gate."

Roy blinked. "When I hit the _what_?" he choked, shoving himself upwards, vertigo be damned.

"When you hit d'gate" the child repeated. "With your head," he clarified.

"With my. . . oh," Realisation sank in and Mustang slumped back on his pillows. _I hit my head on the garden gate. Well that would explain why my head wound only affected me now. I only just got it. After. . . I saw. . ._

The door opening again distracted Mustang from further thought. The boy he'd dubbed 'young Alphonse' was in the doorway. And right behind him was the woman that Mustang had seen before he'd collapsed. There was no doubt about it now. Whether the woman was Trisha Elric remained to be seen, but there was no denying she was identical to FullMetal's mother. Mustang stared at her in shock for the second time.

_What the hell is going on? _


	3. Injury

The woman in the doorway stepped forward, a gentle smile on her face. She moved the single chair in the room to Mustang's bedside and sat next to him. As she reached out a hand and touched the dark-eyed man's arm reassuringly, she asked, in a soft, warm voice, whether he felt recovered from his faint earlier.

Mustang's mouth opened and worked soundlessly. He wanted to yell at her, to demand an explanation for the impossibilities around him, but he just couldn't get the words out. Hoarse rasps rose from his throat as panic set in and he began to choke and cough, unable to breathe. The room began to spin and he was dimly aware of gentle hands holding his head and a soft female voice telling him to take deep breaths and relax. Roy felt a tiny hand slip into his as vague blurs swam across his vision, and the last thing he saw before slipping into unconsciousness once more was a pair of frightened golden eyes.

When Mustang woke again, the window was closed and the sky outside was dark. An oil lamp hung on the wall, bathing the room with a soft golden glow. The dark-haired alchemist felt much better now. The sick, nauseous feeling that had dogged him earlier seemed to be gone and a tentative attempt at verticality was successful.

As he sat up, Mustang took another look around the room and noticed gratefully that a cup and water jug had been left on the wooden table in the corner. Deciding that he might as well give standing a go, the man swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself up. For a second he felt dizzy and lightheaded, but that passed and his head cleared. A smirk of satisfaction appeared on his face as he limped over to the table and poured himself some water.

The cool liquid felt good against his raw throat and as he gulped it down Mustang tried to make sense of his situation. The two boys, he had a reasonably good theory about, but their mother. . .

_Doesn't make any sense,_ he thought_. Just how? How could she. . .? She looks so much like FullMetal's mother. . . How? And where the hell am I exactly anyway? _

Mustang groaned, rubbing his forehead. All these questions were giving him a headache. If he could just _remember_ what happened after the gate between worlds had exploded. He sighed. Thinking about _that_ made his headache ten times worse. For all he knew, _he_ could be in a different world.

The creak of the door opening caught his attention and Mustang swung around to face it. His stomach dropped as he saw who it was. Young Ed and Al's mother stood there, smiling shyly at him. Mustang stared at her, struck again by just how much she resembled the woman who the Elrics had lost their bodies for. Caught in the handsome man's dark-eyed stare, the woman's cheeks coloured.

Abruptly Mustang remembered his manners. "Please excuse my rudeness," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "Brig- ah, Corporal Roy Mustang, at your service Ma'am. Sorry to impose on you like this. Thank you for taking care of me."

The chestnut-haired woman let out an embarrassed laugh. "Oh, ah, it was no trouble Corporal. My son told me how you helped him get home. Patching you up was the least I could do."

Roy treated the woman to his most stunning smile. "Might I know the name of such a generous lady?" he asked, laying on the charm with a shovel.

She smiled at him. "It's Trisha," she told him, "_Mrs_ Trisha Elric." She emphasised her married status and he obligingly turned down the charm a notch while doing a truly impressive job of keeping a straight face. Inside though, Mustang's brain started screaming at him. She looked _exactly _like Edward and Alphonse's late mother, she had the exact same _name, _and she had two sons whose resemblance to the Elrics he knew was frankly unbelievable. And they also had exactly the same names as their older counterparts. _It just can't be real! _He wailed inwardly.

Trisha looked at Corporal Mustang in concern. The already pale-complexioned man had gone stark white after she'd told him her name and he was shaking almost imperceptibly. "Perhaps you should sit down Mr. Mustang?" she suggested gently. "You look positively ill."

The man fixed his piercing gaze on her and nodded, sinking quickly onto the bed as though he was afraid his legs would collapse. Trisha put a hand to his forehead, feeling his temperature. "You don't seem to have a fever. Maybe I should call a doctor? Our neighbours the Rockbells are-"

"No!" the Corporal said sharply, panic in his voice. He shook his head violently. "Please, no doctors I . . I'm not ill, just a little worn out."

Trisha looked sceptically at him. He'd just gone even paler, if that was possible. "Are you sure?" she queried. When he nodded emphatically, she gave in. "Alright. But I insist that you stay the night. A good night's rest in a proper bed will do you wonders."

The man managed a weak smile. "Thank you Mrs. Elric, you're truly a generous person." He fell silent and Trisha made to leave the room. Just as she was about to leave, the soldier spoke again.

"Mrs. Elric?" he asked hesitantly. "Could you tell me the date?"

"Of course Corporal," the motherly woman smiled, "it's July the fourteenth, nineteen-oh-four. Have a good night's rest now." And then she left, shutting the door behind her.

"Thank you," the soldier whispered. "Good night."

###

Roy Mustang lay in the dark, feeling sick to his stomach. As much as he tried to reject the possibility, he couldn't find any other explanation for his current circumstances. The conversation he'd just held with the woman _-Mrs. Elric-_ had confirmed it. The blast from the gate's destruction had somehow sent him back in time. To Resembool of all places, no less.

He wanted to yell, to scream and shout that this couldn't be true. He wanted to find out that this was all some kind of twisted joke, that he was hallucinating it all. _But you're not,_ the familiar nagging voice whispered. _You know you're not. It's real. The thing you blew up was a gate between two parallel worlds. You didn't even worry about the consequences of destroying it before you started throwing fireballs. And now here you are. In the past._

When Trisha Elric had mentioned the Rockbells, it had been all Roy could do not to throw up from sheer panic. He'd executed them in Ishbal. But Ishbal _hadn't happened yet. _The last thing he wanted to see were the faces of people he was going to kill.

Taking a few deep breaths, Mustang managed to achieve a measure of calm. _You are still Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, _he told himself. _You are here now. Deal with it like any other problem. _

_But how? _He wondered. This wasn't like any other problem. No one had ever had a problem like this. Or at least he was pretty sure they hadn't. Of course, if they had, and had told someone, they'd probably ended up in a mental asylum. Mustang scowled, pulling himself out of the unhelpful train of thought. He didn't want to end up as a mental patient.

_Typical, _he thought, _I go out of my way to help FullMetal destroy that blasted gate and. . . _Mustang pulled himself up short, as a sudden realisation hit him.

_FullMetal._

His short-tempered, pain-in-the-ass, prodigy of a subordinate. . . wasn't. Edward Elric in this time was an adorably small six year old who'd cried after skinning his knees and gotten a piggyback ride home. And what about Alphonse? He was, what? Five? No armour, no automail. They were just two small boys living with their loving mother. The human transmutation, the loss of their bodies, that whole _mess_ with the philosopher's stone. It had yet to happen. He had yet to turn up on their doorstep and offer the two broken boys a lifeline by suggesting Edward become a state alchemist. The whole mess was years away.

_Wait a minute, _Mustang thought. _It's 1904. Am I 20 again? Is that why I have both eyes? _

Mustang took a brief look at himself. Nope. He was definitely still thirty-two, strange reappearance of his eye notwithstanding. So, was his younger self somewhere in Central right now, preparing for the State Alchemist examinations? Roy wondered briefly what would happen if he met himself. Would the universe explode? He thought about this. Probably not, he decided. The universe had to be sturdier than that.

So maybe he could. . . But then again, he realised, that might not be such a good idea. If some look-alike had come up to him about three years ago and said "I'm you from the future" he'd have torched their ass. His twenty-year-old self would only be even more likely to do that. The last thing he wanted was to be hospitalised for setting _himself_ on fire. Even if no one else understood the irony, it would still be incredibly humiliating.

Thinking about his past self, he realised something else he hadn't considered. In this time Roy Mustang was a twenty-year-old private studying alchemy. So he, thirty-two year old Roy, did not, technically, exist. He had no money, no food and nothing but the clothes on his back. No official existence, no rank, no birth cert, no bank account. All that belonged to the other Roy Mustang. Which meant he was no longer the Flame Alchemist, because the Flame Alchemist hadn't received his state title yet.

He was just. . . Roy Mustang. And he didn't even have anything to prove that was really his name.

_What do I do now?_

###

Mustang woke early, having only managed a few hours sleep. His mind had refused to switch off, constantly reminding him of horrible things that were due to happen. Ishbal, the Rockbells, Trisha Elric's death, the loss of her son's bodies, the homunculi, _Maes._ It was all going to happen, a nice neat timeline of horror and death and he didn't know if he could prevent any of it.

The creaking hinges on the door once again brought Roy back to reality. He looked over and saw a small blond head poke itself into the room. It was -_FullMetal- _young Ed.

"Mister Roy!" he squealed excitedly, "You waked up! C'mon, Mom's cookin' pancakes!"

Roy stared at the child. He had seen him yesterday, of course, had carried him around even. But now, knowing exactly who this small ball of energy was, it was like seeing him anew. This was FullMetal, was _Edward_, who had unknowingly helped Mustang in his goal to become Fuhrer by becoming the People's Alchemist and making the military (i.e. Roy) look good, but been a royal pain in the ass otherwise. This was Ed before everything in his life had gone so drastically wrong. And he was just so _adorable._

"Mister Roy, c'mon! Al's gunna eat our pancakes."

Roy let himself be led out of the bedroom by the hand; following young Ed down the hall to what he presumed was the kitchen. He sniffed the air, catching the scent of lemon, and his neglected stomach rumbled loudly, making Ed giggle. Roy couldn't help giving him a half-smile and ruffling the boy's messy blond hair. It was so bizarre to him, to see this small happy child and then remember the short-tempered alchemic prodigy who had been his subordinate. Did this Ed even know how to perform alchemy yet?

Upon reaching the kitchen, they found Al already seated and Trisha busy at the stove. "Good morning Mrs. Elric." Roy greeted her as Ed finally let go of his hand and hurled himself into a chair.

She smiled. "Good morning Corporal Mustang. Pull up a seat," she invited him, "and please, call me Trisha."

He smiled back at her, charm offensive automatically deployed in the face of a pretty woman. "Then I insist you call me Roy."

"Of course," Trisha agreed. "If you don't mind my asking Roy, what brings you to Resembool?" she queried, setting pancakes onto plates.

"Oh, I'm just passing through on my way back home to the east," Mustang said quickly.

Trisha looked at him with interest while her two sons began a battle for the last of the syrup. "You've come from Central?" she asked curiously.

"Yes, I've just finished my service and been discharged," he lied smoothly, taking a bite of his pancake.

Meanwhile, Alphonse had succeeded in winning the Battle for the Syrup. Edward sulked for a second before opting to shovel a mountain of butter on the last piece of his pancake instead, while his mother was distracted with talking to Mister Roy. However, before he could eat it Trisha reached out and swiped the fork from his hand. Ed opened his mouth to protest, but she gave him a firm look and said, "that amount of butter isn't good for you Edward. It'll make you sick. Now finish up your milk before you leave the table, there's a good boy."

Roy almost choked, being very aware of FullMetal's vehement dislike of milk.

Ed sulked.

Trisha looked at him calmly.

Al downed the last of his milk and disappeared out the back door.

Roy watched the mother-son staring contest with interest.

Ed glared at the milk.

Trisha raised an eyebrow.

Ed scowled.

Trisha folded her arms and continued to look at him calmly.

Ed drank his milk.

Trisha smiled.

Roy Mustang resisted the urge to applaud enthusiastically and beg to study at the feet of the Master.

###

Following the end of breakfast, Mustang had helped Trisha clear away the dishes and then thanked her for her hospitality. As he stepped through the (slightly dented) white garden gate and gave a goodbye salute to Edward and Alphonse who were playing in the garden, he privately admitted to himself that he had no idea where he was going.

But he couldn't just ask to stay with Trisha and the boys. What reason would he give? 'Oh, I'm actually your oldest son's commanding officer from the future whom he met after failing to resurrect you using human transmutation, losing two of his limbs and Alphonse's entire body in the process. Can I rent your spare room? By the way, I'm broke.' _Oh yes, _he snarked to himself, _that would go down well, wouldn't it._

_Still,_ he mused, _if I'm operating on the assumption that the future can be changed, and I am thank-you-very-much, then I should find someway to set myself up nearby. At least for the moment. Maybe Mrs. Elric's illness could've been cured if it was caught early enough?_

Of course, he realised, that would leave one Colonel Roy Mustang lacking a talented prodigy for a subordinate in about six years, which would put a real crimp in defeating the homunculi. _I'll just have to take care of them myself,_ Mustang thought. A memory came to him of a suit of armour and an eleven-year-old boy in a wheelchair with dulled, hopeless eyes. _There's no way I'm letting those two boys destroy themselves just so they'll be there to defeat the homunculi, _he vowed._ Besides it'll be easier this time. I know the future. I have the upper hand. Bradley isn't going to know what hit him. Setting his ass on fire is going to be so _satisfying.

Mustang was so lost in thoughts and plans, that he failed to notice the tree root lying across the road. His injured foot caught in it and down he went. There was a sharp _crack!_ as he fell into the roadside ditch and struck his arm against a pile of rocks that had been left over from the building of a wall. Mustang howled, suddenly the owner of a broken right arm and a re-sprained ankle and scrambled to get out of the ditch. Unfortunately for him, rain the previous night had made the grass slippery and Roy only succeeded in falling over again. This time he struck his head.

As Mustang once again succumbed to unconsciousness for the third time in two days he managed to say woozily "somehow, I know this is all FullMetal's fault."


	4. Doctor

The first things that greeted Mustang on his return to consciousness were clean white walls and the overpowering scent of disinfectant. He groaned inwardly, blinking his eyes to adjust to the light. _I hate hospitals. I really hate hospitals. Wait a minute; why am I in the hospital and why does my arm feel so painful? Feels. . . broken. . . and. . . Oh, my head. Ow._

Mustang lay there for a second, just breathing and trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his arm which had been encased in a large cast. He glared at the whitewashed walls of the room, noticing the various implements and tools that lay neatly on the tables. He was in a surgery, he realised. So how had he got there?

He was in the past, he remembered, and he'd just left the Elrics (_FullMetal, of all the people to run into, why him?)_ and then he'd tripped on the road, (his ankle throbbed painfully letting him know what it thought of his clumsiness), there had been all those stones in the ditch. . . _Oh. Guess someone must've found me and brought me to. . . oh. Oh no. . . No! Oh, please no! Please, please no!_

Resembool was a small village with a spread out population of farmers. The nearest hospital was in a town nearly forty kilometres away. The only place to bring a sick person in Resembool was the local doctors-cum-automail mechanics. The Rockbells.

With an almighty effort, Mustang managed to control his breathing. _Calm down Roy,_ he told himself, taking deep breaths. _Having a panic attack in the surgery will only attract the attention of the people that you do _not _want to see. So get a hold of yourself. Calm down. You can't afford to have another panic attack. _With that thought, Mustang scowled at his cast-covered arm. He'd knocked himself out twice in two days. That had to be some kind of record. He could just imagine what his men would say if they could see him now.

Riza would probably have shot him for not paying attention. Falman would give a lecture on the treatment of broken bones. Fuery would be concerned. Havoc and Breda would laugh themselves sick at his newfound klutziness, while the damn shrimp would make smart remarks as his brother apologised for him.

_Are you waked up now, Mister Roy? _

Mustang shook his head in agitation. This whole situation was just too bizarre. If he somehow ever got back to the right time, he'd-

The surgery door opened and Mustang froze, pure horror turning his stomach. A man walked in, smiling at him reassuringly, the way good doctors do. He was a tall man, a little younger than Roy, with light brown hair and blue-green eyes. He introduced himself and began to talk about Mustang's injuries, but the Flame Alchemist wasn't listening. After all, Mustang already knew who he was and saw him very often. Mostly just before he woke up screaming at three a.m. Sweat poured down his face, his stomach heaved in self-revulsion and he flinched when the man went to check the new bandage on his forehead. To Roy's utter horror and embarrassment, he threw up violently.

###

Luckily for John Rockbell, he was an experienced doctor and recognised the signs of someone about to vomit. Just before the soldier in his surgery lost his breakfast, he grabbed a bowl from the nearest shelf and thrust it in front of the man's face. To the dark-haired man's credit, most of it ended up in the bowl and not on the floor. John waited until the man began dry retching and went to empty the bowl into the sink, returning to his patient with a glass of water.

"Breathe," he told his patient. "There's nothing left inside, if you don't stop trying to cough up you'll injure yourself. Just take a deep breath and breathe."

John proffered the glass of water once the soldier had stopped coughing and blinked in surprise when the man threw up his hands in a defensive gesture. He put a gentle hand on the man's arm and was shocked when the dark-eyed soldier shied away from him; nearly falling off the operating table he'd been lying on.

"Please. . . " A cracked agonised whisper came from the pale soldier's vomit-flecked mouth. "Please, I can't. . . don't touch me. . . _I can't _. . . _please_ _don't_. . . _please. . _."

_He's afraid of me, _Dr. Rockbell realised as the man stuttered and begged. _Judging by his size and the military training he's bound to have, he could lay me out with one punch. But he's afraid. Why?_

"You're perfectly safe here Corporal Mustang," John reassured his patient. "There's no need to be afraid. I'm a doctor, remember? I just want to help you."

The soldier's head jerked upon hearing his name, and now he stared at the doctor, his dark eyes wide, and his face far too pale. "How. . . how did you know my name?" he breathed, panic obvious on his features.

"Trisha Elric told me when she got here," the doctor said as calmly as he could. He had a feeling his patient might try to bolt at any second. "You remember her, don't you? You stayed in her spare room last night, yes?"

"Yes, yes, I did, yes" the soldier mumbled, still showing what John Rockbell considered an unreasonable amount of anxiety for just being faced with a doctor. Something seemed to catch the dark-haired man's attention and his eyes met John's in a panic.

"She's here? Is, is Mrs. Elric, okay?" he stammered, concern evident in his tone. He had gone even paler if that were possible.

"She's perfectly fine, Mr Mustang," John assured the soldier.

Somehow this only seemed to upset the man further. "But then why would she be here?" he demanded. "Has something happened to the boys? Are Edward and Alphonse all right? Oh shit!"

John decided it was time for some tough love, before the man could start hyperventilating. "_Breathe _Corporal," he ordered, in his best impression of a 'military' voice, taking the man's hand in a firm grip. "Trisha is here, because she is concerned about _you._ Her boys saw you fall on the road and she called me for help. We brought you over here and then my wife and I took care of your injuries. Mrs. Elric decided to stay until you woke up. She thought you would appreciate a familiar face."

"Oh." Most of the tension drained out of the soldier, relief clear on his face. Then he seemed to realise suddenly that John was still holding his hand. He jerked out of the doctor's grip and almost fell over. "Please, don't. . _.don't_. . ._"_ he said again, the agonised tone creeping back into his voice. Dr. Rockbell obliged him by stepping back, noting the man's reaction interestedly. The further away he was, the calmer Corporal Mustang seemed to get.

"You have no reason to fear me," John promised the panicked man, keeping his voice gentle "I'm just a doctor, that's all. Just a doctor. I'm no threat." He moved back closer to the dark-eyed man.

"No threat. . ." the soldier repeated, seemingly hypnotised by the doctor's voice. "Just a doctor, no threat." To John's total surprise, tears began to fall from the soldier's eyes. He moved closer, listening the Corporal mutter to himself. "_Just doctors, no threat, no reason to fear, just doctors, just doctors!"_

Abruptly, the soldier threw his good arm around John's neck, startling the daylights out of him. "I'm sorry!" the man wailed, bursting into tears. "I'm so sorry! I never wanted. . . I didn't want to do it! I didn't! I won't let it happen this time! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. . . please, _I'm sorry!" _John stood there, one hand on the distraught man's shoulder, the other rubbing circles into his back, as the soldier cried into his shoulder, still mumbling apologies. Eventually, the man wore himself out, and mumbling a last "_sorry" _to John, he fell asleep.

###

Trisha Elric and Sarah Rockbell looked up from their tea when John entered the room. "We heard quite a bit of noise," Trisha said in concern. "Is he all right?"

John looked at his wife and her friend and sighed. "Physically, he's going to be fine" he said. "His concussion isn't severe, it should clear up by tomorrow. The ankle sprain is a bit worse; he should stay off his feet for a week or so. I don't know why he was walking on it in the first place. The arm is the worst and even that's not a bad break, so it should heal fine in six or seven weeks. Mentally though. . ."

Sarah Rockbell looked at her husband sharply when his voice trailed off. "What is it, John?" she asked.

"Well. . . "

"Just spit it out, John," she said.

John Rockbell sighed. "I think that man has been through some kind of mentally traumatic experience," he said.

"Well, he is a soldier," Sarah pointed out. "That kind of life, you're bound to see some. . ." She stopped as her husband shook his head.

"He's afraid of doctors." John told the two women. "Very afraid. I almost felt that he was afraid of me personally, except I've never seen him before. The man is nearly a head taller than me and given the impressive muscle structure he has, I'm sure he could lay me out flat with one good punch. But he almost had an anxiety attack at the prospect of me touching him. Then he hugged me and started apologising obsessively for something. I'm not sure I want to speculate on what could do that to a man."

Trisha thought about the charming man who had been perfectly at ease at her breakfast table. She couldn't imagine him panicking at anything. Then she remembered the way he'd gone pale upon learning her name the night before. Still, though. . . Trisha stared into her tea, lost in thought.

". . . don't think he'd be comfortable staying here for a week" she heard John say, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up from her tea. "Sorry John, I missed the last bit."

"I was just saying that normally I'd offer someone with his injuries the spare room, at least until they could walk properly again," John explained. "But given his reaction to me, I don't think staying here would be good for him. We'll have to find somewhere else."

Trisha opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, John cut her off. "I know you have room Trisha, and you're kind to think of offering, but I don't think it's a good idea. You have the boys to look after, and Corporal Mustang isn't in the most stable mental state right now. He needs someone to keep an eye on him."

The minute John Rockbell finished his speech he knew he'd made a mistake. He could see that Trisha was mentally comparing the man in his surgery to a child that shouldn't be left with scissors. All of her mothering instincts were jumping to life and demanding she take care of the man and nothing was going to persuade her otherwise.

He was proved right as she jutted out her chin decisively and said, "I'm not asking John. I'm insisting. And unless you think he's a danger to my boys, you're going to get that old banger of a car out again and drive him over to my house."

Sarah nodded in agreement and John knew he'd lost the battle. "I doubt he's a danger to anyone but himself," he admitted. "I'll drive you home as soon as he wakes up, okay?"

Trisha smiled with satisfaction. "That would be great, thank you John."

"You'd better dig out some spare clothes too." Sarah suggested. "His uniform was covered in mud from the road and I don't think the poor man has anything to change into. And don't forget to dig out the crutches for him from the storeroom."

John sighed. "Yes dear," he said obediently, and then left the room to arrange things for the wounded soldier.

The women sipped their tea.

###

Ed sat on the grass and sulked. He and Al had had a fight over who was going to marry Winry and Ed had lost. Ed didn't want to marry Winry anyway, because she was girly and bossy and she talked about nothing but automail, but he disliked losing fights to his little brother.

While Al and Winry made plans for their wedding, Ed decided to wander back to the house and see if Mister Roy was awake yet. He and Al had been playing in the garden when Mister Roy had waved goodbye and they'd heard him howl when he'd fallen down into the ditch and hurt his arm. Mister Roy seemed to fall down a lot, Ed thought. Both boys had rushed down the road after the tall man and Al had burst into tears when they'd seen him lying down with blood on his forehead.

Ed had wanted to cry too, because he was scared for Mister Roy, but he couldn't because Al was already crying and Ed had to be a good big brother and look after Al. Instead he'd told Al to go get Mom and then sat down by Mister Roy and held his hand. Mom always said that holding hands helped people feel better and whenever Ed or Al got sick she would sit next to the bed and hold their hands and read to them.

Ed had only been waiting a minute when Mom had rushed down the road and gasped when she saw Mister Roy. She'd put her apron under his head and told Ed to go to the Rockbells as fast as he could and tell Mister Dr. Rockbell to come get Mister Roy in his car. By the time the doctor had got out the car and driven all the way over to where Mom was waiting with Mister Roy, Ed had started sniffling. He'd liked Mister Roy a lot and wanted him to be okay.

Doctor Rockbell had jumped out of the car and rushed over to Mom and Mister Roy. He'd poked Mister Roy's head a few times and then asked Mom to help him carry Mister Roy to the car. Ed had been left with Al to walk all the way to the Rockbell's, because Mister Roy was lying down and taking up all the room in the back seat.

###

When Ed reached the back door of the house he saw that his Mom and Missus Dr. Rockbell were having tea. He decided this was a good sign. If Mister Roy were still hurt then Mom would be fussing over him, like she did with Ed. But she was drinking tea with Winry's Mom, so that meant Mister Roy was probably okay.

Mister Dr. Rockbell wasn't around, but there were noises coming from the storeroom where the Rockbells kept the fake arms and legs and junk. Ed decided that the coast was clear, so he sneaked past the tea-drinking Moms and peeped into the surgery. Seeing Mister Roy lying on the big table with a blanket around him, Ed took hold of a stool and pushed it over to the table. He clambered on top of it and looked at his new friend.

Mister Roy was asleep at the moment, but Ed saw tear stains on his face. He wondered why Mister Roy had been crying. Maybe Winry's dad had made him take nasty medicine? Ed scowled in dislike. He _hated_ having to take medicine. It was always yucky.

"Hey little one, what's with the angry face?"

Ed blinked in surprise. Mister Roy had woken up and opened his eyes without him noticing. Ed beamed happily at him, glad that the big man was better. Then his brain caught up with his ears.

"I'M NOT LITTLE! I'M NOT, I'M NOT, I'M NOT!"

Mustang couldn't help laughing.

###

The childish shriek of fury attracted the attention of both the Rockbells and Trisha, who rushed to the surgery, mortified that it sounded as if Ed was screaming at an injured man. But by the time Sarah Rockbell opened the surgery door, all there was to see, was Edward seated on Corporal Mustang's lap and both the dark-eyed man and the blond little boy were laughing their heads off.

###

The car journey back to the Elric's house was the most uncomfortable one Mustang had been on in his entire life. The presence of John Rockbell in the driver's seat, as well as the view of his wife and six-year-old daughter waving goodbye from the front of the Rockbell house made Mustang want to throw up all over again. The fact that he was currently dressed in some of Dr. Rockbell's old clothes was making him feel even worse. So when the Elric's small, neat house came into view, Mustang gave an audible sigh of relief.

Trisha looked at him quizzically. "Not really a car person, are you Roy?" she asked sympathetically, coming to a logical, but flawed conclusion.

"No," he said simply, hoping that he wouldn't have to say anything else. After Mustang had woken up in the surgery the second time and Edward had been shooed out, he'd found that talking in Doctor Rockbell's presence without crying or being sick was extremely difficult for him. At least the man had realised something was up, he thought. He'd been very careful when helping Roy with his clothes and crutches and hadn't touched him any more than was absolutely necessary. Beyond giving the soldier instructions on using the medication he provided, he hadn't spoken to him again either.

Nevertheless, it was with a huge amount of relief that Mustang, balanced on his crutches in front of the Elric house, watched John Rockbell get back into the old, half broken down car and drive away.


	5. Dream

_He was floating. There was silence, brightness and peace and he lay there, floating in it. There was no ground below him, just more soft brightness. He sighed in contentment and bliss._

_Then the brightness withdrew, leaving the area around him faded to grey. Suddenly he heard a child scream. Fire roared up around him and he scrambled to his feet, standing on greyness. The flames that surrounded him jumped higher. Another scream echoed through the greyness close to the withdrawing light. He tried to go towards it, but fire barred his way. _

_Something whispered words in his ear that he could barely make out. He turned, but there was no one there. _

_Fire flashed again, trapping him. It zigged and zagged, tracing a design in a circle that he stood at the centre of._

_His feet lifted from the greyness and he rose above the circle, seeing the full design for the first time. He stared at it wonderingly. Etched in fire on the greyness was a circle that he recognized. He felt as if it belonged to him somehow._

_Pain flared on his hands and he looked at them in surprise. Red light was tracing across the backs of his bare hands. It stopped suddenly and he stared. The same circle was on his hands, sketched in flickering red light._

_A child's scream echoed again, terror resonating from it. Something hit him, shoving him towards the sounds. He flew towards the brightness that was curling itself into a sphere._

_He saw them above the bright light. Two blond boys with grey and golden eyes. He saw why they were screaming. _

_The brightness was swallowing them, slowly crawling up their bodies, dissolving as it went. It had started with the grey-eyed boy first. His body was nearly covered in light. The light was slowly moving up the golden-eyed child's leg as he reached out to his terrified brother._

_The light stopped suddenly, seeming to notice the man. Then it flared and the man covered his eyes. When it faded again, he stared in horror. _

_Lying there in the dullness, where the grey-eyed boy had been, was a suit of armour, eyeholes lit with unearthly light. The golden-eyed boy remained, but an arm and leg had changed, replaced with hard and unforgiving metal. _

_Hopeless, dull, gold eyes stared out at the greyness. Behind the boy, the light that had eaten away his brother coalesced, forming a new shape. A human shape. As the light faded again and the features became visible, the man found himself looking at a young, handsome dark-eyed man in a blue uniform. The pattern that was threaded in red light on the man's hands was picked out in red on the soldier's gloves. _

_He stared at the other, younger him, who stood behind the broken boy and the child of armour. As the man watched, red blood welled up, seemingly from nowhere and slowly began to stain the soldier's white gloves. He choked in horror and tried desperately to shout as the soldier rested his bloodstained hand on the boy's metal shoulder. Blood dripped from the glove and flowed down the metal, covering it. _

_As the red stain advanced, the boy seemed to grow older, becoming a young man, his now bloodstained blond hair tied back into a braid. The metal arm changed, ending in a wickedly sharp blade. The boy's eyes became even duller, sick yellow instead of gold. Blood trickled out of the armour beside him, the light of the soul that inhabited it became discoloured, a sickly shade of red._

_The soldier in blue looked at the bloodstained figures of the armour and the half-metal boy. Then he stared straight at the man, his lips curved into a vicious, cruel distortion of the man's own confident smirk. _

_"Isn't this what you wanted?" he said, and then snapped his fingers. Armour and boy were consumed by fire and blood._

_Roy screamed._

###

Mustang jerked awake suddenly, trying not to scream aloud. As he lay back and drew in short, panicked breaths, he became aware of an aching pain in his hands. When he pulled the uninjured one up to his face to inspect it, his jaw dropped. Sketched on the back of his bare hand, in the colour of old, dried blood was his transmutation circle.

_How the hell did that happen? It's just like my dream! What the hell is happening to me?_

He looked at as much of the back of his other hand as the heavy plaster cast would allow and saw the evidence of a twin blood-coloured circle there also. Grabbing the water jug from the bedside table, Mustang scrubbed at his uninjured hand with a wetted bed sheet. It had no effect. The circle on his hand remained, not even the slightest bit smudged.

He pulled his crutch from under the bed and hobbled over to the light that was let in by the single window. Holding his hand up to the light, Mustang examined it, turning it this way and that. As far as he could see, the circle had not been drawn using ink or paint. Indeed, who would have been able to do that without waking him?

_Somehow, _he thought, _it's like it's drawn _under_ my skin. But how? What would do this? In my dream. . . _He shook his head sharply. The dream had been just that. A bad dream, brought on by the unholy amount of stress he'd been under after waking up in the Rockbell's surgery. It had _not_ been real.

_Oh yeah? Then explain how your transmutation circle got drawn _under _the skin of both your hands, _the nagging voice of his subconscious demanded.

Roy groaned and mentally told it to shut up. He sat back down on the bed and scrubbed distractedly at his hair with his one good hand. He realized that he was still dressed in an old pair of pyjama's belonging to John Rockbell that he'd been lent the previous day. So he decided to wait until after he'd finished the challenging task of dressing himself one-handed before he started thinking about unexplainable things like his newly tattooed hands.

_Right, _he thought,_ how to put on your pants with only one hand, Step One. . . _

###

The sound of muffled swearing and the _thwack _of a crutch hitting the floor alerted Trisha Elric to the fact that her injured guest had awakened. She knocked on the door of her spare room and was about to enter when a panicked cry of "Don't come in! I'm not decent!" and a muttered "damn stupid pants!" stopped her. Trisha smiled in amusement and called through the door that breakfast was nearly ready.

"Thank you Trisha, I'm just getting dressed. I'll be out in a moment," Roy called back, his voice muffled by the door.

Trisha smiled to herself again and left him to it. As she walked back to the kitchen, her thoughts wandered back to the dark-haired man in her spare room. There was something very unusual about him, though she couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was. Not something bad, just. . . odd. He was very handsome of course, and if she hadn't been married she might have been interested. But that wasn't what she was feeling, she was sure.

As Trisha considered her guest, she thought of the odd look that he seemed to wear around her sons, especially Ed. It wasn't a look that unsettled her, more sort of a fond nostalgia coupled with. . . determination, she thought. Perhaps Roy had a son of his own? It would certainly explain how comfortable he was with her short-tempered oldest son.

Trisha loved Ed, but she was under no illusions about his occasionally foul temper. To her surprise, the only response Ed had gotten from the soldier when he'd yelled at him in the Rockbell's surgery was laughter. Somehow Roy seemed to find Ed's height-related tantrums amusing.

She smiled sadly, remembering the scene when she and Sarah Rockbell had opened the surgery door in a panic. The man sitting up on the operating table, and Ed on his lap, both laughing happily. For a second she had remembered a big, blond-haired man with a beard, holding up a blond toddler in his arms as he lay on the grass.

Trisha sighed. _Oh dearest, when will you come home?_

###

Despite a few almost-tumbles Mustang had managed to clothe himself in the end. However, to his slight embarrassment putting on his military boots was currently beyond his one-handed capabilities. He'd also been unable to think of a way to hide the transmutation circles inscribed on his hands without making it very obvious that he _was _hiding something. So, in pants, shirt and socks, he slung his good arm over the crutch and hobbled down the hall to the kitchen.

Upon reaching the kitchen Roy found Trisha pouring porridge into four bowls as Edward and Alphonse fidgeted impatiently. The boys looked up as the kitchen door opened and both grinned upon seeing Roy.

"Now c'n we eat?" Al asked his mother hopefully. "Ev'ryones in the kitchen now."

She smiled. "Wait until everyone is seated Al. Then you can start to eat."

Both boys immediately jumped up to pull out the last chair for Roy, who chuckled. "You have very well-mannered sons, Trisha," he told her as he carefully manoeuvred himself into the chair.

"Yes," she agreed, "it's amazing how well behaved they are when food is involved. Now if only I could get them to actually _eat_ the food instead of inhaling it."

Roy looked over at the two boys, who were busy doing just that, and laughed. Al looked up at him, grinning, and then to Mustang's surprise the grey-eyed boy froze and stared at him. Roy followed the boy's line of sight and realised just what had caught his attention. Trisha did the same.

"Oh my," she gasped, "Roy, what happened to your hand? It looks as if it's been branded!"

"Er, well, it's. . ." he floundered, unsure of what to say.

Ed, having finally seen what everyone else was staring at, gave a cry of excitement. "I's a transm'tation circle!" he said in amazement. "Mister Roy, you an alchemist?"

Faced with both mother and sons gazing at him curiously, Mustang caved. "Yes," he admitted. "I used to be a State Alchemist."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Trisha said, clasping her hands together.

Mustang blinked in surprise. 'Dog of the Military' and 'damn alchemic freak' were the reactions he was used to getting on announcing his status to people who didn't know of it. 'Wonderful' was a new one.

"Uh, thanks," he told her, a bit flabbergasted by her reaction.

"My husband, Hohenheim, is an alchemist," Trisha said proudly. "And my boys have learned some too!"

_Now that is interesting, _Mustang thought, _they can do some alchemy already? Al's what? Barely more than five, wasn't it? And FullMetal. . . very interesting. _

"Oh?" Mustang said, carefully speaking in a tone of only mild interest as he dug into his bowl of porridge. "How much have they learned?" he asked.

"Only the basics," Trisha admitted modestly, "but they're so smart, learning it from books at their ages!"

"Very gifted boys," Roy said, laying on the charm. "You must be very proud of them. Perhaps later, the boys could show me what they've learned? I'd be interested to know how far along they are."

Trisha glowed with pride at the praise to her sons. "I'm sure they'd be glad to," she said. "Wouldn't you two?" she asked her sons.

Ed and Al nodded with excitement. "You show us your alchemy too, Mister Roy?" Ed questioned hopefully, looking at Mustang beseechingly with his big golden eyes.

"Well. . ." Roy thought about it as he swallowed a mouthful of porridge. "I don't see why not." Then he grinned. "Provided you finish all your milk, of course."

Ed didn't even hesitate before chugging down the entire cupful of said liquid, though he made gagging noises immediately after. Both adults stared. _Wow,_ Mustang thought. _He really wants to see my alchemy. _From the look on Trisha's face he could see she was thinking the same thing. She smiled delightedly at them all as she sat down and began to eat her own breakfast.

###

Once everyone had finished breakfast and all the dishes were washed and put away, Roy had been half-hustled outside by two very excited boys. Now, sitting gratefully on a chair that had been carried outside in a team effort by Ed, Al and Trisha, he watched as the boys carefully drew a basic construction circle on the ground.

Once it had been drawn to their satisfaction, Al piled sticks of wood into the centre. That done, both boys knelt and placed their hands on the array. A second later, the yard lit up as alchemic energy flashed. In the centre of the circle, there now lay a bunch of beautiful white flowers. Trisha, who had been watching from the clothesline on which she was hanging Roy's newly washed uniform, gave a cry of delight.

"They're so beautiful!" she exclaimed as Ed rushed over to her with most of the flowers. "Just like your father used to make for me!"

_Aha. . . _thought Mustang, who had been wondering why two boys would choose to make something that was so, for lack of a better word, girly. He took the flower that Al held towards him and examined it. "Perfect cohesion, no sign of alchemic breakdown, rough but accurate form . . . " he muttered to himself, turning the flower over. "The transmuted elements are holding their new arrangements. . ."

Roy looked up from the flower and realised he had an audience. All three Elrics were looking at him in anticipation. "It's a little rough around the edges," he said honestly. "But otherwise, it's a perfect transmutation."

Trisha hugged her sons in proud delight. Ed and Al both beamed at Roy.

"You show us your alc'my now Mister Roy?" Al asked.

Roy nodded and pulled on his left glove. "Can you boys get me some more of that wood?" he asked.

Both children went running for the woodpile and carried the biggest log they could manage to the temporarily crippled man. He smiled and instructed them to stand back. Ed looked at him in confusion.

"Don' you need to draw a circle, Mister Roy?"

Mustang grinned at the gold-eyed boy. "I've already got one Ed," he said, holding up his gloved hand for them all to see. Then he focused on the wood and snapped. The log went up in flames, leaving nothing but ash as the three Elrics gasped in amazement.

Mustang however, was staring at something else. It was half hidden beneath the plaster cast, but when he'd used his alchemy, the circle that had appeared under his skin had started to glow red. Mustang shook his cast-covered hand agitatedly and noted with relief that the glow faded almost immediately.

_What the hell was that?_ He wondered.

"Mister Roy?" A small voice interrupted his thoughts abruptly. It was Ed who was staring at him with something akin to worship. "Can you show us how to do that?"

"Ahhh. . ." Roy said nervously, looking at Trisha. "Maybe in twenty years."

"Thirty." Trisha corrected him, though she still looked impressed.

"Right."


	6. Voice

Two days later, Roy sat in the large rocking chair in the Elric's kitchen, his injured foot resting on a stool as he idly watched Trisha through the window, putting her washing on the clothes line. Held awkwardly in his injured hand was the small notebook that Trisha had given him to write in, knowing that alchemists tended to need such things. It was already half full and occasionally he would flip back through the pages and cross a sentence out, or adjust it.

Written in Mustang's personal alchemic code, the notebook was his blueprint for life in the past. It contained names and dates of every event that he thought had some relevance to King Bradley and the homunculi, as well as other things that would have to be taken care of, now that there wouldn't be a FullMetal Alchemist to deal with them. _Or at least, _he thought, _Edward won't be a state alchemist at age twelve. No harm in suggesting it to him once he's a bit older. He'll still be a prodigy after all._

The irony was not lost on Mustang that the ability to transmute without circles, which had more-or-less been responsible for getting Ed into the military at such a young age and giving him a fighting chance at restoring his brother's body, had only been acquired by the boy during the event that had lost the brothers their bodies in the first place.

Things were going to be different this time. The Elric brothers were not going to be performing human transmutation, so Ed would not develop the ability to transmute without circles. He would not be quite the prodigy he had been, but given that he had already been able to do a pretty accurate basic construction at the age of six, he'd still be _a_ prodigy. Therefore, once he was legally old enough to enter the military, he should have no problem passing the State Alchemist examinations without his circle-less transmutation (which he would not have anyway).

Edward wouldn't have automail. He wouldn't receive the title 'FullMetal'. It had hit Roy yesterday as he'd been sitting in the Elric's back yard, scribbling coded sentences in his notebook, and keeping an eye on Ed and Al while Trisha went to the market. Edward Elric the FullMetal Alchemist would never exist.

Oh, there would be an alchemist named Edward Elric, he might even become a State Alchemist, but 'FullMetal' the People's Alchemist was gone. The only place he existed now was in the memories of a man bent on changing a six-year-old boy's future, as well as the future of the entire country.

FullMetal was gone. The thought echoed in Mustang's brain, repeating itself over and over. He didn't know quite how he felt about it, which made him angry with himself. _For God's sake man, do you want those boys to destroy themselves because they made other lives easier afterwards? _

_Because they made your life easier. . . _whispered the nagging voice that Mustang had come to dread. _You could do it. Think about how much harder it's going to be to take down the homunculi without FullMetal's help. You need him. You wouldn't have to do anything. Just sit back and let nature take its course . . . _

_I couldn't . . ._

_You wouldn't be doing anything wrong, _the voice of his subconscious whispered. _Just let history take its proper course. A homunculus killed Maes. Don't you want to stop that? Don't you want to save him? You need FullMetal's help. _

_But I . . . _

_Sometimes the few must suffer for the good of many. And it's not as if they won't find the philosopher's stone. They wouldn't be stuck as Tin can and half-metal pipsqueak forever. . . Just a few years. . . It'll be worth it in the end. . . Or do you want to spend five years hanging around here once their mother dies so that you can talk them out of human transmutation. _

_Five years . . ._

_That's how long it took them to become good enough to attempt human transmutation. Trisha Elric dies before the end of this year. Remember? _The voice whispered, a snarl of impatience in its tone.

_No,_ Mustang realised with a start. _I don't remember that! I didn't know exactly when she died. But _you_ do. . . And I have never thought of Alphonse as 'Tin can'. You're not my subconscious! You're not me! What are you? Where are you?_

_Inside your head genius, _said the voice irritatedly, now sounding nothing like him. There was a cruel tone to it as it said _Damn. I did hope I'd be able to influence you for a little longer before you figured it out. _

_Get out of me! _Mustang thought furiously, _get out!_

_Or what? _The voice replied snidely. _You'll set fire to your own head? Nuh uh, Flame Boy. I'm not going anywhere. Why should it only be you who gets a second chance? I deserve one too! AND I WILL HAVE IT!_

_Who are you? Tell me! _The Flame Alchemist demanded.

_Work it out genius, _the voice taunted. _Use that brain of yours. It's quite good. Well, for a human. Mustang the great manipulator. You are devious, aren't you? You know, you'd have made a great replacement for Pride. Appropriate I think, considering you killed him. Especially after you even got the eye patch. _

Mustang's mouth went dry in horror.

_You're a homunculus. . . And you're inside my head . . ._

_Oh well done, Hot Stuff,_ the voice congratulated him, mock-impressed. _Don't you want to know which one? _The voice laughed with vicious satisfaction. _I shot your annoying friend. He almost beat Lust with those knives of his you know, but me, well I could look like anyone I want. You should have seen the horror in his eyes when he turned around and saw dear Gracia pointing a gun at him. Oh, it was wonderful!_

_SHUT UP!_ Mustang screamed silently, clutching his head in his one good hand. His notebook had already fallen to the floor unheeded. Outside, Trisha still busied herself with the clothesline, unaware of her houseguest's distress.

_No, I don't think so flamey. Watching you freak out is _so_ much fun. Knife-Nut was so pathetic when he died, you know. Saying 'sorry' to his little Elysia, because he wouldn't be home in time to kiss her goodnight. Honestly, he was seconds from death and I was still tempted to break his jaw. The only other human I've come across who wouldn't shut up was the FullMetal pipsqueak. Of course he was a lot harder to kill. I managed it eventually though. But that blasted tin can reversed my work. So annoying._

_SHUT UP! _Roy screamed again. _SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!_

_You know, it's weird isn't it? I used a lot of faces when I fought him. It was only when I used your face that he actually hit me harder. Who knew the pipsqueak hated you that much? You've changed manipulation tactics this time around though, it's interesting. You actually got him to like you. Following you around with those big pretty eyes of his, calling you 'Mister Roy'. He even has the future tin can doing the same. It's so cute I could just vomit. _

_I am not manipulating Ed or Al! _Mustang snarled at the Homunculus. _I only want to protect them!_

_Oh please, don't be so modest. You're doing fabulous work. They'd probably jump in a river if you said so. You're doing Knife-Nut out of a job though, _the Homunculus' voice continued. _Guess he won't be pipsqueak's self-appointed father figure now. Oh well, more time for him to spend with his own kid. Well, before he ends up dead._

_SHUT UP! _Mustang howled._ Stop it!_

_Why? _The Homunculus laughed. _Making you crazy is so much fun. And I've been so, so bored. _

_You've. . . been bored. . . _Mustang thought slowly, rage receding as an idea at the back of his mind yelled for attention.

_Yes! _The Homunculus yelled. _Wait, _it demanded suspiciously,_ what are you thinking, Flame Boy?_

A smirk made it's way onto Mustang's face as he stared unseeingly out the kitchen window. Outside, Ed and Al had returned from school and were greeting their mother with their typical excited shouting.

_Flame! _The homunculus roared demanding Mustang's attention. _What are you thinking? What do you know? Tell me!_

_You've been bored, _Roy repeated, smug satisfaction dripping off his mental voice. _Because you can't do anything!_

_What?_

_You can't do anything, _he said again. _You got into my head somehow, just after I destroyed the gate . . . but you don't have a body of your own. Leave it somewhere? Pretty careless of you. _

In his head, the homunculus screamed. _I did not lose it! It was taken from me! While you were given back everything and more! But I fooled the Gate! I sneaked a ride on your body and got back to this world! She sent me here without even knowing it! _

_She? _Mustang said curiously. _Who's 'she'?_

The homunculus didn't answer, but Mustang could feel its anger. Anger at being trapped as a bodiless voice in someone else's body. It was furious, jealous. . . envious. . .

_Took you long enough Hot Stuff, _the homunculus said as it heard Mustang think its name. _Envy. That's my name. Don't wear it out!_

Mustang smirked. _Envy huh? And like the emotion you were named after, in the end you're useless._

_WHAT? _The homunculus roared, furious.

_What was your plan? _Mustang asked derisively._ Drive me crazy with voices until I did anything you said? Not going to work, you son of a bitch. All you're getting is a front row seat to the destruction of your younger self and the rest of your inhuman friends!_

_No! _Envy screamed. _You pathetic alchemist! I'll -_

Mustang cut him off. _You will do nothing. All you are is a voice. You do not have a body of your own and you certainly have no control over mine. All you can do is sit in there and bitch about how unfair life is. You think you can drive me crazy? You couldn't stand Hughes for two minutes. I put up with his chatter for the best part of twenty years. You are nothing. _

Envy screamed wordlessly.

_Oh, by the way, _Mustang added, _I will take great pleasure in personally burning your and Lust's faces off before you even get near Maes. And then I will disguise myself so that I can hang around the base and watch as he talks my younger self into going to Elysia's _fourth_ birthday party. And just to top things off, I will throw a party and eat cake for _Ed's _birthday. Seeing as how they're the same day._

Envy howled.

"ROY!"

###

Roy's head shot up, his eyes snapping open. He looked around in confusion. He'd been . . . talking to . . . Envy, and now. . .

"Mister Roy?"

Ed was in front of him, looking at him worriedly. "You okay Mister Roy? You w'r talkin' in your sleep." The boy held up his notebook. "You dropped it, look."

Mustang shook his head to clear it. "Talking in my sleep?" he asked the boy, taking the notebook from him. _Then, did I imagine it all? Envy, _he asked silently, _you there you son of a bitch? _

No scathing voice answered.

"Yup," Ed said, answering the question he'd asked aloud. "You said somethin' like 'Enby' and 'Hyooz'. You okay?" he asked, holding out his little arms.

"Just fine," Mustang reassured the boy, hiding his confusion as he obediently lifted young Ed onto his lap. "Have you just come home from school Ed? Where's Al?"

Ed pointed. "He's still outside wif' Mom, look. He got a prize at school today. But I didn't 'cos Winry got the other one."

Roy looked out the window. Sure enough, there was Alphonse, tugging excitedly at Trisha's skirt with one hand and waving something white and unidentifiable in the other.

"It's a paper aminal" Ed told him, trying and failing not to sound jealous of his little brother. "School's boring anyway. Alchemy's better."

Roy smiled at the golden-eyed boy. "I'm sure you'll get one next time Edward." He paused. "You'll just have to try a _little_ harder."

"I'M. NOT. LITTLE!"

Mustang sighed contentedly, tousling the boy's blond hair.

###

Later that night, as he lay back against the pillows in his bed, Mustang tried to figure things out. Had he really had a mental conversation with a homunculus? Ed had said he'd been talking in his sleep. It could've been just a dream; there'd been no sign of the homunculus since, not a sound of him. But . . . _Trisha Elric dies before the end of this year. _That's what the insidious, cruel voice had said. Mustang hadn't known that. He hadn't known the exact year of her death.

It was the truth though; somehow he was sure of that. Did that mean Trisha was already sick? How much time did she have left?

_What am I going to do? I don't even know if she can be saved. I can't cure the sick! What am I going to do? _

He pictured Trisha's gentle, smiling face. _What do I do? _

Mustang's eyes grew heavy and tired. A woman's voice echoed in his mind.

_Do what you must Our champion. Save her sons. Save Us._

He slept.


	7. Flame

_Central City, Amestris._

Central, the largest and most important city in Amestris was more busy than usual that morning. Men in uniform were in greater evidence today than they had been in the past year. Everyone in Central was aware of the reason. The new Fuhrer, King Bradley, was back from his long inspection of the west. Just in time for the State Alchemist Examinations.

Outside Central's military headquarters a dark-haired young man in uniform shook his head distractedly and promptly gave a heart-felt groan as the motion caused his already aching head to swim. He closed his eyes briefly to shield them from the morning's bright sunlight and for the thousandth time that morning he cursed his best friend for getting the two of them so completely hammered the previous night.

How was he supposed to demonstrate his fire alchemy if he couldn't see straight? Damn Hughes and his alcohol! _Never again_, the young man swore furiously, jerking his head in emphasis. _Oh. . .ow. . . pain. . . _Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Private Mustang squared his shoulders and strode into Central Command. If all went well, today he would become a State Alchemist.

###

_Resembool_

Trisha Elric stood in her kitchen, chopping board at the ready and knife in her hand. However, instead of putting the finishing touches to that afternoon's lunch as had been her intention, the gentle, grey-eyed woman was distracted, gazing out the window at the scene in her garden.

Corporal Mustang was stretched out on the grass, his head resting on his rolled up uniform jacket, fast asleep in the warm sunshine. His ever-present notebook lay open on his stomach; it's pages fluttering in the slight breeze. Behind the sleeping man, Ed and Al were sitting next to each other, deeply engaged in the business of making daisy chains to prove to a visiting Winry that boys were just as good at it as girls.

Unfortunately for the boys, they were not having the same success as Winry, who had already completed two chains of her own and was halfway through a third. The cheerful little girl was wearing one proudly, having thoughtfully dropped the second on to the sleeping soldier's face as a Get Well present. Ed had scolded her for dropping flowers on Mister Roy, but the man was so deep in sleep that he hadn't even twitched.

The peaceful scene of the man and children relaxing in the sunshine made Trisha regret that she was not a painter. She smiled wistfully as she began to make lunch, thinking it would be lovely to capture such a nice sight on a canvas.

She blinked in surprise when the Corporal suddenly sat bolt upright, making the flower-chain on his face fall into his lap.

###

A sharp pain in his hands jerked Roy awake. He sat up in shock, distractedly noticing that for some unfathomable reason there were daisies falling off of his face. Roy brought his uninjured hand in front of his face and stared at it. The transmutation circle on it was glowing a dull red colour. From the stinging sensation in his cast-covered hand, Mustang guessed the other circle was doing the same.

_What the hell? _He thought, gazing at his hand in total confusion as the glow slowly faded. Child-like 'ooh's' sounded behind him and Roy realised he was not alone. He turned his head and found three small blonds staring at his hands in fascination.

_Okaay. . . _Mustang thought frantically as the children turned inquisitive looks on him. _How the hell do I explain this? _

Young Edward was the first to speak. "You doin' alchemy, Mister Roy?" he asked curiously.

"Uh, well. . ." Mustang floundered, before being interrupted Winry.

"Don' be stupid Ed!" the future automail mechanic said authoritatively. "Mister Mustang's hand is hurt. It's all scratched an' needs a bandage on it!"

"Looks like alchemy to _me,_" Ed insisted.

"It's scratched. Needs a _bandage,_" Winry shot back, nodding her head in emphasis.

Sensing a fight about to break out, Mustang glanced between the two disagreeing children, unsure what to do. He had no idea what had just happened to his hands and he certainly had no idea how to deal with fighting children. Mustang caught Alphonse's eye and to his great relief, instead of joining the increasingly spirited debate, the boy just asked "D'you think Mom has lunch ready yet?"

Mustang's inbuilt 'ways-to-distract-FullMetal' instincts jumped to life immediately. _Of course,_ he thought, relieved. "I don't know Alphonse," he said loudly so as to be heard over the alchemy vs. bandages debate. "I'm getting pretty hungry though, why don't we go ask your Mom if the food's ready?"

As the Flame Alchemist had hoped, the effect the mention of lunch had on Ed was instant. He stopped mid-sentence, yelled "Food!" and hared off towards the kitchen, grabbing Al's arm and pulling his little brother along with him. Roy pushed himself up on his crutch and he and Winry followed the brothers at a more sedate pace.

Just as he was about to step through the kitchen door, Mustang felt a tug on his pants. He looked down to see a concerned Winry gazing up at him. "Sure y'r hand's okay, Mister Mustang?" she asked.

"It's just fine, little lady," he assured the worried girl, painfully aware of how much she looked like her mother, even at the age of six.

Winry nodded seriously. "Okay, but you make sure an' come see my daddy if it hurts, 'kay?"

"Absolutely," Roy told her. "I'll be over in a flash."

"Promise?" the little girl asked.

Guilt, and the image of two lifeless bodies made Mustang's stomach heave and somersault. Ignoring the urge to be sick, he looked Winry in the eyes and gave her a charm-laden smile. "I promise," he lied.

Stepping into the kitchen, Mustang and Winry were greeted by Ed and Al who were impatiently waiting for them to sit down so that they could begin eating. Trisha laughed at their antics, but Roy could only manage a weak smile. Somehow, he'd lost his appetite.

###

That night, lying carefully on his bed so as not to put weight on his broken arm, the former Brigadier General lay awake staring into the darkness as he tried to make sense of the day's odd event.

As his injured ankle gradually improved and the little notebook became completed, Mustang had begun to feel rather useless, sitting around the Elric's house all day with his foot up while Trisha worked. He had repeatedly examined the transmutation circles that were now permanently inscribed on his hands and come up with nothing.

Mustang still had no idea how they had come to be upon his hands, other than what had happened in the extremely disturbing nightmare and he was currently rejecting the possibility that it might have been real. He had also been unable to come up with a reason for their sudden decision to glow just before lunch, since he hadn't been using alchemy at the time.

Whatever non-alchemists might have thought, there was no way you could accidently activate an array in your sleep. There was also the fact that though the arrays on his hands were drawn perfectly, they didn't work. He was extremely confused about that, because there was no reason they shouldn't. His gloves were convenience only, their basic function was to provide a spark for him to manipulate and save him from constantly drawing circles every time he wanted to attack.

Technically he could achieve the same results with an array drawn on paper and a cigarette lighter, as he could with his gloves. In fact, after a certain embarrassing incident involving Scar he had appropriated Jean Havoc's favourite lighter and kept it, just in case. An array drawn on the skin itself _should_ work. He _had_ done it before, with a sword skewering his shoulder.

(He was pretty sure the sword was unnecessary though and had no intention of poking four feet of steel through his arm to test if it would activate the circle.)

The circles on his hands therefore, glowed when he used his gloves to perform alchemy, but he could not use the circles themselves to perform it. This discovery had left the Flame Alchemist utterly confused.

Though so many strange things had happened to him, Mustang was at his heart an alchemist and a scientist. He believed in a logical scientific explanation for everything, even after he'd been faced with so many impossible things. Lost in the past, he clung to logic and alchemy as the only things that still made sense. But now, with unexplainable transmutation circles appearing and glowing randomly, he felt that even ever-dependable alchemy was abandoning him.

He sighed and lay back, shutting his eyes. Perhaps there was no explanation.

###

_Central City._

"Yo, Roy!"

The newly promoted Major Mustang looked up from his drink and grinned at his best friend as the man swung himself on to a bar seat. "Hey Hughes. Buy you a drink?"

Maes Hughes blinked in shock. "Alright," he demanded, "who are you and what have you done with Roy? Your disguise is brilliant, but your acting sucks. That tight-fisted jerk would never pay for another man's drink."

The newest State Alchemist pulled a face. "I'm hurt Maes. I'll have you know that I've paid for lots of people's drinks."

"Yes," the bespectacled man agreed, "you have. Provided those people are of the pretty, female variety."

"Can I help it if I'm popular with the ladies?"

Hughes raised an eyebrow at his dark-haired friend. "I take it from the tone of smug self-satisfaction that today's exam went well?"

"No thanks to you," Roy said, glaring briefly at Maes as he waved to attract the bartender's attention.

"Aww. . . did poor widdle Roy have a hangover during the exam? Poor baby." Hughes laughed and then ducked sharply at the sound of fingers snapping, leaping off his stool. "Hey! You obviously passed, there's no need to- Wait a minute. You're not wearing your gloves, you bastard! You made me jump off my stool like a complete spazz for nothing!"

Roy grinned victoriously at him. "Revenge is sweet, my non-alchemic friend."

Hughes glared at the alchemist as he climbed back on his stool and ordered a drink. "Go on then, Mister State Alchemist. Let's hear it."

"Hear what?" Roy asked blankly, shooting a confused look at the older man.

"The weather report from the Drachman border," Hughes said sarcastically. Roy's look of confusion intensified and Maes sighed in annoyance. "Your second name, you dumbass! C'mon, tell! What is it?"

The alchemist gave him a pitying look. "Mustang, of course. How could you forget my name? Did you walk into a wall again?"

Hughes stuck out his tongue. "Now you're just being mean, Roy. That was an isolated incident and you know it. I meant your State title. You know _that _too."

The new Major grinned again. "Oh all right," he said in condescending tone. "Since you're just _dying _to hear it, I shall tell you. You, Maes Hughes, are speaking to the Flame Alchemist!"

Hughes blinked. "Fuhrer Bradley's not very imaginative, is he?"

That was not what Roy had been expecting to hear. "Eh?" he demanded, feeling deprived of an impressed reaction.

"Well. . ." Hughes said waving a hand dismissively, "you use fire alchemy, coming up with the title 'Flame' can't have taken him more than two minutes. He could at least have put a bit of thought into it. Like, how about 'Combustion Alchemist' or 'Snappy Fire-making Alchemist' or ' Sparky-Sparky-Boom Al-"

"I think you'd look better with no hair," Roy interrupted, halting the flow of progressively sillier names. "How about I burn it off?"

"And risk damaging this face? How could you even suggest such a thing?" Hughes asked flamboyantly. "My girlfriend would be horrified!" His face brightened as a thought struck him. "Have I shown you my latest pictures of her?" he asked, reaching for his wallet. "I'm pretty sure she's the one, you know? She's just so amazing and beautiful! And she's the best cook!"

"Maes, I'm in a good mood right now, don't make me ruin it," Roy said, holding up a now gloved hand, fingers ready to snap at the sight of a photograph.

Hughes dropped his hand from his pocket and gulped down some of his beer. "You're so cruel to me, Roy," he mourned. "Why are you my best friend again?"

"Because no one else will put up with your over-enthusiasm for more than an hour without fearing for their mental health," the dark-haired man said.

"Soo cruel," Hughes told his beer glass. "Did you hear him? He's like a nightmare, except he's around during daytime too. So very mean." He looked over at his friend with a grin, ready for more verbal sparring, but his expression changed to concern when he saw the troubled look appear on the Major's face. "Hey firebug, what's wrong? Did your cat die all of a sudden?"

"I don't have a cat," the alchemist muttered morosely, staring into his drink, good mood seemingly vanished.

"Then what's got you down?" Hughes demanded. "You were fine three seconds ago. Did I say something wrong?"

Roy shrugged. "Not really. You just . . . reminded me of something, that's all."

Hughes narrowed his eyes. "All right, spill it Mustang," he commanded.

"I'd really rather just finish my drink," Roy said evasively.

"Spill it," Hughes repeated firmly. "Look Roy, whatever it is, you're going to tell me eventually, so why not save yourself the time and trouble and tell me right now."

The alchemist heaved a sighed. "It's just. . . it's something kind of stupid," he told his friend.

"Can't be that stupid if it makes a good mood disappear faster than your drink. C'mon, tell."

"Alright," Roy said, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "But you'd better not laugh."

"Cross my heart," Maes promised.

"A couple of days ago, I had this really weird dream," Roy admitted. "It. . . it scared the crap out of me and. . . you're going to laugh, aren't you?"

"I'm trying not to!" Hughes protested. "But, c'mon Roy! A nightmare? _That's_ what's got you down in the dumps?"

Roy groaned, swallowing the last of his drink. "I knew this would happen if I told you," he muttered. "Just shut up and listen, okay?" And as he elaborated, Hughes' urge to laugh ceased and his mouth slowly dropped open in revulsion.

"Bloody hell, Roy," he said when his friend had finished. "That's, that's pretty damn disturbing."

"Yeah."

"And that kid?"

"Never seen him before in my life, Maes!" Roy exclaimed. "I only saw the back of him anyway, but, the blood, it was coming from my gloves, it was everywhere, it seemed so real!"

"Hey, hey, relax," Maes, said gently. "Just a weird dream, remember?"

"Yeah, I know, it's just. . . "

"Disturbing."

"Really disturbing," Roy said with emphasis, waving his hand at the bartender for another drink. He looked back at his friend. "The worst though," he said quietly, "the worst was the, the _other_ me. He looked, looked so, so damn _terrified_, Maes. He was screaming and I was just, just standing there and then I _snapped _and the armour and that kid just. . ." He stopped, gulping down his drink. "I was some kind of monster," Roy whispered.

"You know what you need?" Hughes asked his shaken friend.

"What?"

"Another drink."


	8. Rumour

Resembool was a small, spread out community of farmers and like in all such communities the world over, news tended to spread fast. It wasn't long before all of the Elric's neighbours were aware that an injured soldier from Central was staying with the two boys and their mother. The absence of Trisha's husband, which had ceased to be fodder for the local gossipmongers a long time ago, suddenly became interesting news again.

When Old Everett, a local farmer with a horse and cart, helped Trisha Elric take home a rather heavy load from the market one day and caught sight of her houseguest, rumours began to fly. Especially once the talkative old man described the soldier as not only a rather handsome man of around thirty, but also apparently an alchemist like Hohenheim, given the designs he and the two boys had been drawing on the ground when the old man had seen him.

The more spiteful gossips in the area, who had been rather aggrieved at Trisha's steadfast refusal to do anything scandalous in the wake of her husband's apparent abandonment of her and her children, lapped up the information like cats who'd just been dropped in a bowl of cream.

###

As the days wore on and Mustang recovered enough to manage the short walk into what passed for the main street of the 'village', he was soon confronted with the unpleasant fact that he could no longer afford to stay with the Elrics.

Roy had needed to stretch his legs after a week of sitting around with his foot elevated and when Trisha mentioned that she needed to pick up a few things from the village he had volunteered to go almost immediately. After much begging, pleading and fervent promises to behave, the boys had also accompanied him.

Now, standing at the counter of Resembool's tiny and only shop, while the storekeep busied himself with fetching various things, Roy became aware of the curious stares directed at him by the other patrons. He shrugged mentally, assuming the country people were just surprised at the sight of a soldier in uniform in their remote rural area and turned back to the storekeep.

Once his purchases were paid for and put in the satchel he'd brought to carry them, Roy called to Ed and Al, who were busy staring at a brightly coloured toy in the shop's one window and the three of them walked out into the bright sunshine. They hadn't gone far when Roy's foot, used for the first time in a week, began to ache.

Luckily for the pained man, the local watering hole was nearby, with a painted wooden bench helpfully located outside it. Mustang limped over to the bench and sank gratefully onto the hard wooden seat with a sigh, leaning back against the wall, next to a window with a crack in the bottom corner.

The two boys watched Mustang carefully for a moment and then climbed up to sit beside him.

"You okay, Mister Roy?" Al asked, a concerned frown on his small face.

Mustang smiled at him. "Just a little tired Al," he answered the boy, reaching down to massage his aching foot through his boot.

"Are we gonna be sitting here for ages?" Ed piped up, obviously not looking forward to the possibility.

"Only a little while," Mustang promised. "Why don't you two go and take a look in the shop window again? I'll call you when I'm ready to go."

This suggestion met with approval and both boys rushed off to go look at the toy. "Stay where I can see you!" Roy called as an afterthought. The brothers yelled back an affirmative and Mustang relaxed against the wall again.

As he kept a close eye on the Elric brothers, Mustang became aware of a conversation being held on the other side of the cracked windowpane. He knew the conversation was none of his business of course, but nearly a decade surviving the_ literally_ cutthroat military politics on his way to becoming Fuhrer meant that eavesdropping was second nature to Roy.

"It's not proper I tell you," said a scratchy voice that sounded like an old woman.

"Ah, what harm?" slurred a second voice, that of an old man. _Probably hungover, _Mustang thought. "Besides," the old man continued, "the fella's injured I hear. 'Isha's only being kind, that's all."

"Kindness! Humph!" the old woman snorted. "The problem with you, Hetter, is that you don't understand propriety. She's married! It's not right for her to be carrying on like that. Letting him stay in her house! The shame! If the young rip's really that injured he'd have stayed in the Rockbell's spare room, just like Mr. Lee did last year when he was gettin' his foot fixed up. It's shameful!"

Hearing this, a dark suspicion began to grow in Mustang's mind and he paid closer attention to the conversation.

"Who said anything about them carrying on?" the man identified as Hetter protested. "Isha's a good girl, she wouldn't be doing anything like that. She has her boys to think of, remember?"

There was another derisive snort from the old woman. "According to Everett, the boys don't seem to have much of a problem with the soldier man. The old drunkard was up there yesterday and he told me, you'd have thought the man was those children's father the way he was playing at alchemy with them. Apparently he's a good lookin' young man _and _an alchemist like old Hohenheim. Can't hardly blame her for gettin' interested I suppose. That yellow-eyed disgrace was only around long enough to leave her with two babies to look after before he scarpered, the coward."

There was a short pause in the conversation, filled by the sound of two people sipping their drinks. Mustang, who had been listening intently, realised he was unconsciously getting ready to snap his fingers.

How _dare_ the old busybody gossip about Trisha that way? She was a good, kind woman who could be dying, for god's sake! He felt almost as angry as the time someone had made an insinuating comment about himself and Gracia some time after Maes' funeral.

_Now that I think about it,_ he realised, _Trisha's pretty similar to Gracia. They're both natural mothers. No wonder FullMetal and Alphonse always jumped at the opportunity to stay with Hughes whenever they were back in Central. It must have been comforting, being around someone who mothered them. Hughes and Gracia used to throw Edward a birthday dinner every year, didn't they? _Roy sighed, depressed. _Maes was so good to Ed and Al. He loved those boys. _

The Flame Alchemist smiled sadly as he remembered the conversation he'd once had with Hughes. He'd been half-drunk at the time, but Hughes most certainly hadn't been.

###

_"Argh! I'm telling you Maes, that brat's going to be the end of me! You know what he did? He blew up a town hall! A town hall! And who has to handle all the complaints about Mister FullMetal Alchemist? Me, that's who!" Mustang banged the bar counter with his fist for emphasis._

_Hughes snickered at him, totally unsympathetic. "Tough going Roy, but you've only got yourself to blame. After all, you were the one who convinced him to join the military." There was the tiniest hint of reproach in Hughes' eyes, which always showed itself when the subject of Edward's recruitment came up. He had agreed to help his friend to the top of the military ladder, but somewhere deep inside he wished that Roy had drawn the line at recruiting a child to achieve his goal._

_Mustang's insides squirmed briefly and he stared into his drink. "If he hadn't become a state alchemist, they'd have no chance at restoring themselves," he defended himself from the unspoken accusation. _

_"Yeah. I know," Hughes agreed, sounding rather depressed. "But the military is still no place for a kid. The sooner they restore themselves, the better. Gracia agrees with me."_

_Mustang blinked. "You told her about. . ."_

_"What? Oh. No," Hughes assured him. "She doesn't know. I told her they're looking for something, that's all, and she agreed with me that when they'd found it, well. . ."_

_"Yes?" Mustang asked when his friend trailed off._

_"Well," Hughes explained, "once they've, you know, _fixed things,_ I'm pretty sure they'll need time to recover. Al especially, right?"_

_Roy nodded. "Most likely," he agreed, still unsure where this was going._

_"Well," Hughes said again, "they'd probably be safest staying with us while they recover, you know? They'll need looking after and Gracia's so good at that."_

_Roy nodded again. "Sounds reasonable," he agreed._

_Hughes hesitated briefly before continuing. "I was thinking, you know, after they've recovered. . ." He paused._

_"Yes?"_

_"Well, you'll make sure Ed's given an honourable discharge, right?"_

_"Yes. . ."_

_"You see, we were thinking, that is Gracia and me, that uh, the boys might want to. . . um. . . stay with us."_

_Roy blinked, slightly confused. "You're repeating yourself Maes," he said, taking a sip of his beer._

_Hughes shook his head. "Uh, no Roy. I meant, that maybe the boys would _stay _with Gracia and me. Uhm. . . you know, _permanently._"_

_Mustang spat out his drink, soaking the bar counter. He ignored the barman's dirty look and turned his stool so he could look his friend in the eye. "Maes," he said slowly, "have you really thought about this? I know you're fond of them, but you've got one kid already, and Ed's pretty, well, he's Ed."_

_Hughes looked back at him, utterly serious. "Yes Roy. I've been thinking about it ever since I met those kids on the train last year. When I mentioned the idea to Gracia, she agreed with me. We're very sure."_

_"Huh. . ." Roy said, thinking about it. Then he nodded decisively. "Alright. The second they're back to normal I will acquire one set of honourable discharge papers and two sets of adoption papers."_

_A slow smile spread on Hughes' face. "Thanks Roy."_

_"So. . ." Roy said, half to himself, "Edward and Alphonse Hughes, huh?"_

_"We were, um, thinking Elric-Hughes. You, uh, think they'd go for it?"_

_Roy thought about it. "You know, I'm pretty sure they will."_

_"Y'know," Hughes said speculatively, "that'd make you 'Uncle Roy' for three kids."_

_"Don't push it, Maes."_

_###_

The sound of old Hetter's voice brought Mustang out of his reverie. "I don't get you Mary," the old man said. "First you call her shameful and then you say you don't blame her? Which is it?"

There was a disapproving sniff from Mary. "Honestly Hetter! Use your head! It's been years since that yellow-eyed coward ran out on her. Of course Mistress Elric's entitled to find herself a new man. It's the way she's gone about it that's the problem. She could have at least got the man to court her decently before she let him stay in the same house! Not to mention, if she's that ready to find a new man she should have got a formal dissolution. It's still old Hohenheim's house after all."

The old woman sniffed again and Mustang found that he had to list off the reasons why incinerating senior citizens was not a good idea. If the old gossip didn't shut her mouth soon he _was _going to go in there and snap. Figuratively and literally.

About to get up and give the old gossipmonger a piece of his mind, Mustang paused at the sound of another voice. It also belonged to an old woman and she sounded familiar somehow.

"Funny you've got so much time on your hands to be drinking and talking nonsense, Mary Carter," said the new voice. "Not that it's any of your business, but the young man has a broken arm, not to mention a rather nasty injury to the head. Furthermore, I'll have you know that according to my son, the Corporal has been a perfect gentleman towards Trisha. There's absolutely nothing going on there, and even if there was, you old busybody, it certainly wouldn't be any of your business!"

"But I was just-" Mary started to say before being cut off by the newcomer.

"I know what you were _just_, you old gossip! And I don't care to hear anymore of it. Trisha's like a second daughter to me and I won't hear any more nasty talk against her, is that clear?"

There was a brief silence and then a quiet "yes."

"Good!" The newcomer paused briefly and then added, "by the way, apparently the young man can use his alchemy to create fire."

"So?" Mary said, a trifle sullenly.

"So, I saw him sitting outside on the old bench when I came in. Looks like he and the boys came into the village to pick up a few things for Trisha. I'd guess that he's heard everything you said through that crack in the window pane."

A panicked squeak issued from Mary.

"He looked pretty angry too," the voice of chastisement continued, "sort of like a _gentleman_ who's just heard a lady's honour impugned. If you're not careful, Mary Carter, you might just end up singed."

Mustang heard the sound of a chair knocking over as someone stood up fast and then watched in slight amazement as woman in her sixties exited the pub, cast a panicked glance in his direction and then disappeared up the road with an impressive turn of speed. He stared after her for a second and began to laugh.

The familiar sounding old woman that remained in the bar lectured the hungover Hetter briefly on the evils of gossip and then emerged into the sunlight to reveal the short form of Pinako Rockbell. Roy shook his head in amusement. _I suppose I should have known_, he thought. _The old lady was a right battleaxe the first time we met. No reason for her to be any different now._

Pinako nodded briefly to Roy as she exited the bar and then walked over to the shop window which still held the attention of Ed and Al. "I think your new friend is well enough to move," she told the young boys. "You should make sure to take home all that shopping to your mother." And then she walked away, leaving the two boys and the man staring after her.

###

"Well?" Mustang asked the brothers. "Are you two ready to go?"

He received the typical enthusiastic response and sighed in resignation as Ed sped off, treating the walk home like a race. "Edward!" he yelled. "Wait for us!"

Ed gave no sign he'd heard and continued to accelerate. Mustang sighed again and kept walking at a slow pace, figuring that eventually Ed would get tired and slow down. As he and Al walked up the road, Roy felt something brush his uninjured arm and stopped, jerking it upwards. He looked around and saw nothing. Dropping his arm, he continued walking until he felt something brush his hand. He looked around again, and having come up with nothing, he looked at the only possible culprit.

"Al?"

The five-year-old blushed and muttered something unintelligible.

"You'll have to say it louder Al, I can't hear you," Mustang said, kneeling down so he was of a height with the child.

"Wanted to hold hands," Al whispered, blushing madly and staring at his feet.

Roy's mouth twitched into his habitual smirk for a second before the thought of future Alphonse intruded and the smirk washed away faster than yesterday's dishwater. The Alphonse he'd known for four years had been completely unable to feel any kind of sensation. The warmth of human contact had been totally unavailable to that Al. Somehow, knowing that made younger Al's desire to hold hands heartbreaking.

"Sure Al," Roy said gently to the embarrassed boy. "I'd love to hold hands."

Al's shy smile made Roy feel as if the sun had just come up.

As the little fingers tangled with his, Roy briefly wished he could just stay with Trisha and her sons and forget about the homunculi, about plots and philosophers stones.

_But I can't,_ he thought. _I can't stay here any longer. Everything today proved that. I'll come back when I can, but for now, I have to leave._


	9. Leavetaking

_Resembool._

When he answered the knock at his front door and found Corporal Mustang standing outside, John Rockbell gaped for a moment before remembering his manners and inviting the man in. In all honesty, he had not expected to see the dark-haired soldier again. To find him standing outside the front door in full uniform and with a nervous look on his face was somewhat of a surprise.

John was not surprised however, when the corporal declined the invitation to enter, explaining that he didn't intend to stay long. Instead, the uniformed man politely asked if he could have a quick word.

"Of course," John agreed, still puzzled by the man's sudden appearance on his doorstep, given the jet-haired man's obvious phobia of doctors. "How are you feeling, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Fine, just fine," the soldier assured him hastily, though his too-pale face and the slight shaking in his hands belied his words. "I was wondering," he began, "if you could do me a small favour. . ."

###

Ed sat against the dry-stone wall of the field that was next to the Elrics' house, idly tracing patterns in the grass with his index finger. When Al yelled his name from across the field, he heaved a sigh and glanced up. His younger brother was making his way across the grass towards him, with Winry in tow. Ed heaved another sigh. He did _not_ want to play right now. He wanted to be alone, so that he could pretend it was yesterday and that Mister Roy was still here.

The dark-haired alchemist had left that morning, saying that since his foot had fully healed it was time for him to head on to East City. Ed was still missing him badly. Despite the occasional teasing about Ed's height, the man had been nice. He'd talked to Ed and Al about alchemy, had explained things that they were having trouble with, and most importantly in Ed's opinion, he'd made their Mom smile and laugh. That alone would've made it worth putting up with being called little, if only Mister Roy could've stayed longer.

By the time Ed had thought his way through all of this, Al and Winry had come up beside him and were standing over him, looking down. Ed scowled up at his brother and their best friend.

"What?" he demanded.

Al ignored Ed's scowl and pulled at his big brother's arm. "C'mon bruvver, play with us."

"Don't want to," Ed said sulkily, refusing to let himself be pulled to his feet. "Go away Al. Leave me alone."

"Ed!" Winry scolded him, "Stop being so mean. Come and play."

"Don't _want_ to," Ed repeated, glaring at the other two children. "Leave me alone Winry. Go play with your stupid dolls."

Winry's lib wobbled at the insult and Ed found himself being glared at by his little brother. He glared back, knowing he shouldn't have said something that was going to make Winry cry, but not wanting to admit it.

Eventually Al gave up, unable to continue glaring at his big brother, and pulled Winry away before she started crying, telling her that they would go play by themselves until Ed stopped being mean.

"Why's Ed being so mean, anyway?" Ed heard Winry ask Al tearfully as they walked away. Ed scowled at their retreating backs. He was _not_ being mean. He just wanted to be alone for a while without being outwrestled by Al or having to listen to Winry talk about boring automail. Why didn't they get it?

Burying his face in his hands, Ed almost didn't hear Al's answer. "Mister Roy got on th' train to go to Eas' city this morning," his brother told the little blonde girl. "I think Ed's missin' him.

"Ohh," Winry said as realisation dawned. "Aren't you missin' him too, Al?" she asked. "He was nice. He said my daisy chain was pretty just like me."

The five-year old shrugged. "Yeah, 'am. But he promised us he'd come back sometime and visit."

"Oh good! I c'n make another daisy chain for him," Winry said, clapping her hands happily.

The rest of their conversation was lost to Ed as they moved even farther away from him, but he didn't notice. He was too busy thinking about the last thing Al had said. Mister Roy _had_ promised to come back. Just before he'd got on the train to go to East City, the dark-eyed man had messed up Ed's hair before doing the same to Al's, making both boys pull a face at him. Then he'd laughed, told them to be good for their mother, said that he'd be going back to Central from East soon and promised to stop in Resembool on the way there and visit them.

Ed rubbed at his eyes with his fists, trying not to think of the last adult who'd promised to be back soon. It was no good though. He couldn't help remembering the big, blond man who had walked out the door when Ed was four and never come back. Why would Mister Roy come back when Dad hadn't? He wasn't even related to them. He'd probably forgotten all about them as soon as the train had pulled out of Resembool.

_###_

_Eastbound Train._

The weekly morning train jolted and shuddered its way to East City, its chimney steadily puffing clouds of steam. In the cheapest car, which was at the back of the train nearest the cargo containers, Roy shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tried to keep the train's constant jolting from jarring his broken arm again. He'd been caught by surprise when the train first started to move in Resembool's tiny station and now there was a constant dull thudding ache in his arm, making even a small nap on the day long journey to East impossible.

To distract himself from the pain in his arm, Roy looked out the window, gazing at the panorama of green fields, idly noting that the view hadn't changed much in twelve years. There was no clue, no outward suggestion that anything was wrong, nothing that would let anyone guess that the whole country was already being manipulated on a grand scale to produce a stone soaked in the blood of thousands.

Knowing that he'd need to be unobtrusive in East City, (or at least as unobtrusive as a man in full uniform with his arm in a sling and cast could be,) Roy had successfully demoted himself again by ripping the surplus stars off of the uniform jacket that was currently lying in his lap, thinking a silent apology to Riza, who'd gone to the bother of acquiring a Brigadier General's jacket for him when he'd returned to Central, as he did so.

As he shifted in his seat again, the circles inscribed on Roy's hands abruptly began to sting and glow again and he quickly hid his left hand in his trouser pocket, opting to hide his partially cast-covered right hand underneath the jacket in his lap. He scowled at his hidden hands and once again racked his brain for any explanation for his bizarrely acquired circles and their odd habit of glowing. He was especially worried by the fact that the circles had become increasingly active over the last two days.

_Guess I'm lucky this didn't happen a few years ago,_ he thought somewhat depressedly. _Bradley would've had me locked up in the labs and dissected faster that you can say homunculus._

_He still might if you don't avoid attracting attention, Flame Boy,_ he heard a scathing voice hiss suddenly.

Roy froze.

_Envy?_ He asked silently.

No one answered and Roy shook his head at his own foolishness. He had just imagined it, he told himself. And even if he hadn't, so what? If there was an evil artificial human taking up residence in his head, then it could talk all it liked. It wasn't as if it could actually do anything other than bitch at him.

As he sat back and scratched at his itching, stinging hands, the alchemist let out a sigh, thinking about the conversation he'd had with John Rockbell the day before.

_###_

_"You want me to keep an eye on Trisha?" Dr. Rockbell asked in surprise, blue eyes opening wide._

_"She helped me when I was injured," Mustang replied, hoping it would serve as an adequate explanation, before adding, "I am in her debt."_

_"What makes you think she's ill?" the doctor queried, gazing at him curiously, one eyebrow raised._

_"Call it a gut feeling. Just, please, keep an eye on her while I'm away," he beseeched the man, looking him in the eyes and feeling the familiar guilt make his stomach roil._

_"You're planning on coming back, then?" the young doctor said, disapproval leaking into his tone. "Trisha is _married_, you know."_

_"Yes, and I swear to you, I have no interest of that sort in her. I know Hohenheim of Light and I would never disrespect him or Trisha in such a manner," he promised the doctor. _

_"When we met, he told me of his family and I promised him that I would protect his sons to the best of my ability in return for the help he'd given me," the soldier explained, giving the man a slightly altered, but mostly truthful account of what had happened when he'd met Hohenheim at Resembool the day he'd returned after ten years away._

_"You've met Hohenheim?" John asked excitedly, questions tumbling from his lips. "Was it recently? Is he going to return?" He paused. "Wait a minute. . . protect the boys from what?"_

_"It was. . . quite some time ago," Roy hedged, unable to give a full explanation without sounding crazy. "I'm sorry, I have no idea where he is right now. As for the boys. . . alchemy can be harmful as well as helpful. As they become more proficient, they'll need someone to make sure they don't do something foolish."_

_"You?" Roy heard the dubiousness in the doctor's voice._

_"I've. . . seen the results of. . . certain alchemic mistakes," he said haltingly, the image of a child in a wheelchair missing two limbs coming to the forefront of his mind. "I don't ever want to see that happen again," he continued determinedly. "Especially not to Ed and Al. I would never forgive myself if something happened that I could've prevented. Please, will you watch over them while I'm gone?"_

_"You have my word," the doctor promised, affected by the soldier's obvious sincerity. "You know. . ." he said thoughtfully,"before he left, I remember Hohenheim asking my mother the same thing."_

_###_

If he'd had a body of his own, Envy would have killed a random human in frustration. As it was, all he could do was watch the world from behind the Flame Alchemist's eyes and try not to scream in irritation. Being stuck as a passenger in someone else's body was infuriating, but did he_ have_ to get stuck with Roy Mustang, of all people? It was almost as bad as being stuck with the pipsqueak. Damn the blasted Gate!

Envy could feel the alchemist's emotions, even hear a few of his thoughts and quite frankly, they were making him feel ill. He was only a spirit of awareness in someone else's body, yet he felt ill! If the Homunculus could have gagged he would have. Why was the human so _stupid_? For that matter, why was he so bloody _human_? Envy was nearly four hundred years old and had been keeping a semi-regular watch on Mustang ever since Danté and Pride had decided that the Flame Alchemist might be useful. In all that time, all Envy had seen was a shameless womanising careerist who had to work to restrain himself from setting his only real friend on fire.

Now, imprisoned within a corner of the man's own mind, Envy was beginning to see a very different picture. He had thought that the man was admirably free of the usual human failings, but no. It was all here: drive and dedication to a cause larger than himself, deep affection and concern for his friends and subordinates, (and what kind of idiot cared about underlings anyway? Humans were so _pathetic_,) possibly even love for the trigger-happy blonde ( _oh, ew, yuck,_ what was _wrong_ with humans?). The man had hidden it amazingly well. Who knew the Flame Alchemist could be such a bleeding-heart idealist? The revelation made Envy wish he could vomit.

The worst of it was, the man that he'd regularly heard the pipsqueak refer to as 'Colonel Shit' apparently cared about the Shorty as well. To an incredibly annoying degree, in fact. It galled Envy that even after the pipsqueak had already taken Hohenheim's love and affection from his _much _more deserving older brother, he had the nerve to complain that_ he'd_ been abandoned. As if! Shorty didn't know the meaning of the word, not like Envy did! And even after the bastard left him, the short little shit had still managed to collect more father figures! First that knife-crazy lieutenant colonel and then Mustang, even though the pipsqueak had apparently never realised it.

The week that Mustang had been stuck with the perfect little family that Hohenheim had abandoned Envy for had almost been too much for the homunculus to handle. The Flame Colonel (oh excuse _me_, Brigadier General, or was it Corporal? Stupid _bastard)_ had practically doted on the pipsqueak and his future tin can of a brother. It had been so infuriating Envy had slipped up and let the human realise he was there. And then the damn alchemist had demolished his entire plan to subtly influence him in minutes!

The awareness that was all that remained of the first homunculus experienced the spiritual equivalent of a shudder of disgust. Oh _gross,_ the damn man was thinking about the Elrics again. Was it too much to ask that he not worry about the pipsqueak and his stupid little brother for even two seconds? Didn't he know that it shoved a nice image of the little bastards right into the corner of his mind that Envy was sharing? The homunculus thought about that for a second and decided that he hoped not. Then Mustang might start to do it just to piss him off.

Worse, if Mustang's plan to change things worked, it meant _Hohenheim _might live and that was not acceptable. Envy groaned. Sure, he'd killed a lot of humans. But he was pretty sure that even they would call his current situation cruel and unusual punishment.

###

As the train continued rattling its way east, Mustang massaged his temple with his uninjured hand and wondered what could be causing such a horribly bad headache. For a brief moment an odd feeling shivered down his spine, as if someone was glaring furiously at him. He looked around carefully, but the only other passenger in his compartment of the train was fast asleep. Shrugging, the dark-eyed man settled back into his seat and tried to relax.

_###_

_Central_

At the barracks in Central Headquarters, Major Roy Mustang opened his eyes with a cry of terror as he jerked awake from another nightmare. Unfortunately for him, his yell disturbed his best friend who was currently nursing a sick hangover headache. So the young Flame Alchemist only got a pillow thrown in his face and a growl of 'for the love of God, shut up!' for his trouble.

"I'm an alchemist," Roy protested dazedly to his friend, dropping the rock hard military issue pillow on the floor. "I don't believe in God."

"Roy," Hughes groaned pitifully, "please just shut up or I will kill you."


	10. FullMetal

_East City._

By the time the train pulled into East City, Mustang had eventually managed to catch a few hours sleep despite the dull pain in his arm. He was therefore woken somewhat abruptly by the whistle of the train as it signalled its arrival into East City station. He sat up groggily and gazed out the train window at the East City of twelve years ago.

East City was exactly how Roy remembered it. A smaller version of Central, only darker, dirtier and (due to the change in climate as the desert got nearer) just a bit drier. Light drizzle in East meant that rain was bucketing down in Central. But seeing as today East City was currently experiencing what Roy could only describe as a small hurricane, he didn't even want to think about what Central might be like.

As he shrugged on his uniform jacket and stood up to get off the train, Roy scowled out the window at the torrential downpour. He'd never liked rain, even before he'd begun to specialise in the type of alchemy that it could almost completely disable. After Bradley had dubbed him 'Flame Alchemist' he'd come to hate rain. It made his alchemy ten times harder to perform and rendered his ignition cloth gloves (an innovation he was pretty damn proud of, thank-you-very-much) useless.

Rain was nothing more than falling droplets of water, yet it half destroyed his ability to fight and earned him the hated epithet 'Colonel Useless'. Roy was a good shot with a gun, but he was no Hawkeye. His alchemy was the best thing he had to protect the people that he cared about and he loathed the fact that a simple shower of rain could take that away from him, leaving him almost helpless.

_Thank you Havoc, _he thought emphatically as he exited the train, _for your kind donation of a lighter to the Roy Mustang Rainy Day Fund. Your contribution will not be forgotten._

###

Ivan's Inn was a dirty, smoky, and very smelly bar located in what could be politely termed the 'slums' of East City. In fact, the description 'wretched hive of scum and villainy' while possibly offensive to the locals would not be inaccurate. Ivan's was notorious for almost nightly fights, murders that sometimes seemed to be on some sort of bizarre schedule, being a place where business (either of the criminal, carnal or the undercover sort) was conducted, being the occasional starting point for more that a few riots and for beer that varied between being incredibly watered down slops or (the connoisseurs insisted) high grade horse piss.

It was also a place that every new soldier stationed at East HQ went to eventually, whether by being dared to or by misplaced confidence. However, unless they were completely green, extremely forgetful, terminally accident-prone or very tired of life, no soldier would voluntarily walk into Ivan's while wearing their military blues. Taking into account the other clientele, walking into Ivan's in a uniform, be it police or military, was tantamount to suicide.

It was therefore with some surprise that the patrons on this particular night watched as the door was pushed open and a man with jet-black hair walked in dressed in full uniform. Apparently completely oblivious to the shocked glances and angry stares that he was drawing, the somewhat Xingian featured man pushed himself onto a stool at the bar with a tired yawn and waved to catch the barman's attention.

Figuring that avoiding another murder this month would be best, the barman, a solidly built man in his fifties known only as Stig, decided to hurry over and advise the young fool to get the hell out while he was still vertical. Or at least, the majority of his patrons thought, that was what the barman clearly intended. However, to their complete bewilderment, before Stig had a chance to open his mouth, the soldier pushed something into his hand, which Stig took one look at and then paled considerably.

The clientele of criminals, drunks, possible spies and undercover police watched with mounting interest as, instead of telling the soldier to get the hell out while he had the chance, Stig pocketed whatever it was he'd been handed and led the dark haired man to the door behind the bar. As soon as the man had passed through, Stig shut the door firmly, locked it and then turned back to the bar.

There was a brief silence and then a neatly dressed, fussy looking little old man whose appearance was very much at odds with the other clientele stood up. Flanked by two huge bruisers who were tattooed and dressed in scruffy looking leather, the little man made his way over to the bar counter and carefully set down his empty glass.

Stig, who had gone back to polishing glasses as soon as he'd locked the door, turned. The little old man raised an eyebrow, giving the big bartender a quizzical look. In response, Stig reached into his pocket, pulled out the item the soldier had given him and handed it to the little man, who turned it over in his fingers curiously. When he held it up to the light, those near enough saw that it was a small silver disc with a square hole in the centre. The little man turned it over in his hand a few more times, absently running a finger over an etching on one side. Then he nodded to himself and handed the odd little coin back to the bartender.

"I'll want a word with the boy in the morning, Stig," the fussy little old man said quietly. "Do look after him until then, there's a good chap."

Stig nodded respectfully as he carefully poured another gin and tonic for the little man. "Jus' as you say Mr. George. I'll take good care of the young feller for you."

"I know you will Stig," Mr. George replied. Raising his voice as Stig handed the refilled glass to him, the little man added, "I would be _most distressed_ if anything were to happen to the young lad."

Several on the spot plans to smash down the back door and teach the cocky soldier a lesson for having the nerve to come into Ivan's wearing a uniform were abruptly dropped. Everyone had a pretty good idea what happened to people who caused Mr. George to be 'most distressed'. The only reason that nobody knew for sure was that only some of their bits ever saw the light of day. Nobody wanted to end up like that. Especially since those bits were the kind nature never intended to see the light of day in the first place.

###

_When Roy opened his eyes he was sitting in a field of white flowers. Wind blew through the grass, making the flowers sway and he smiled at the simple, pretty sight. _

"_Who are you?"_

_He turned at the sound of the voice behind him and stared. Sitting behind him was a man a little younger than himself. Honey coloured hair was tied back in a ponytail and exotic golden eyes stared out at him from beneath long bangs. Roy stared back. He'd never seen eyes that colour on anything without four legs and a tail. Except. . ._

"_Who are you?" the golden boy repeated a little more impatiently._

"_I, I'm Roy," he stammered, utterly confused by this. . . dream. Was it a dream?_

_The golden boy laughed. "Heh. Suits you. You look like him, uniform an' all. You got a last name, kid?"_

"_Kid?" he snapped, scowling at the boy. "Who are you calling a kid? I'm twenty years old. I am not a kid!"_

_The golden boy shrugged. "Then you're a kid to me. I'm twenty-one. Joined the military when I was twelve. So trust me, you're the only kid around here._

"_I am not a kid," he told the dream-boy superiorly. "I am Major Roy Mustang. The Flame Alchemist. I happen to be the youngest State Alchemist in history. And anyway you're just a figment of my imagination._

"_You've gotta be _kidding_ me," the boy yelled, clearly shocked. You, you can't be. . . you are. . . you can't. . . _you_ are the Flame Alchemist?"_

_Roy grinned happily at the boy/man's shocked face. That was more like it, he thought. However, his face fell at the golden boy's next words._

"_Well that's just great," he said sarcastically. "Here I was expecting Colonel Bastard, who I admit is pretty good at coming up with plans to take advantage of every situation despite his bastardliness (or probably because of it actually,) and I get frickin' Major Naïve. Reward, she says. Hah! I'm doomed. Doomed! I knew I shouldn't have trusted her. The Gate is _always _a vindictive cheating bastard, no exceptions!" _

_Roy's lips twisted at the insult and he let a smirk form on his face. Dream or not, there was no way he was going to take crap from this. . . kid. Who was a year older than him, but still. "Don't you think you're being a little overdramatic, kid?"_

_The golden man's response was. . . not quite what Roy had expected._

"_WHO ARE YOU CALLING TOO SMALL TO EVEN BE ABLE TO HANDLE THE DRAMA IN A PUNCH AND JUDY SHOW, YOU BASTARD?"_

_Roy blinked in surprise and then grinned internally, smirking in amusement as the shorter man flailed, waving his arms bizarrely. Teasing this guy could be a lot of fun. _

_Suddenly the other man stopped and grinned. "You know what?" he said to Roy in an oddly happy tone. "I think you're just as big a bastard now as you will be when you're Colonel. This just might work."_

"_What just might work?" Roy asked suspiciously. The grin the golden one was now sporting was unsettling. "What's your name anyway?" Roy asked. "You never said."_

_The golden-eyed one cocked his head to one side for a moment, half closing his eyes. Then he stood up and grinned down at Roy, the light glinting oddly on his canine tooth. "You can call me FullMetal. That's what I'm used to hearing from you."_

"_FullMetal?" Roy said sceptically, also getting to his feet and noting with satisfaction that he was a good head taller than the other man. "What kind of parent calls their child FullMetal?"_

"_The military," FullMetal deadpanned. "I'm just gonna call you Mustang, okay?" _

_Roy nodded, feeling somewhat dazed._

"_Man," FullMetal muttered, "being older than you is weird."_

"_You were expecting to be younger?" Roy asked, quirking an eyebrow. _

"_Yep," FullMetal replied. "By about fourteen years."_

"_That would make you about six," Roy pointed out, smirking again. "But even you're too tall to be that age."_

"_WHO ARE YOU CALLING A MIDGET NEARLY AS SMALL AS A CHILD?"_

_Roy grinned in amusement again as the smaller man jerk and flailed, yelling obscenities about smirking bastards who didn't even have the decency to be an inch shorter twelve years ago. He reached out after a few minutes to calm the other man and jerked back in surprise when his attempt to catch the golden boy's arm succeeded and he felt hard metal underneath the man/boy's sleeve._

_The other man caught his expression, sighed, and let the brown coat he was wearing drop from his shoulders. Automail gleamed in the sunlight and the older man sighed again. "Like I said," he told Roy, tapping the fingers of his other hand against the silver coloured arm. "Full. Metal." He looked up at Roy, something approaching concern on his face as the dark-haired alchemist went pale. "You alright Mustang?"_

"_I killed you," Roy whispered, horrified. "I don't even know why! I just did it. He was so afraid, so afraid and I stood right there. Right there and then I snapped. You and the armour, up in flames. Up in flames!"_

"_Ookay," FullMetal said worriedly. "Definitely time for you to wake up Mustang. Okay bastard? Go wake up."_

_###_

_Central HQ, Main Barracks._

Major Roy Mustang opened his eyes and glared at the window that was letting in the sunlight. That, without a doubt, was his weirdest dream yet. And he wasn't even on drugs. What was the point of having trippy dreams if you didn't get the opportunity to get high first? Roy pondered the thought. Maybe it worked backwards for him? If he acquired some drugs, would the dreams go away?

_Don't even think about it Mustang!_ FullMetal's voice said._ Drugs are BAD, okay? Didn't you learn that?_

_Nope_, Roy thought fuzzily, still not entirely awake, _I learned that drugs make you hear voices. But I'm already having strange voices and hearing weird dreams. Can't I at least be allowed a high too?_

_No. Absolutely not. You're the Flame Alchemist remember? Gah, I can't believe I actually need you to be a cocky bastard. This sucks._

It dawned on Roy that he was hearing the voice of a figment of his imagination and panic washed over him. He shook his head sharply and took deep panicked breaths, trying to get a grip. After five minutes of deep breaths and nothing but silence he decided that he hadn't been quite awake and the voice had just been some sort of bizarre daydream. "Well, either that or I'm going crazy," he muttered to himself.

"Oh good," said a much more familiar voice crankily, "in that case, kindly have yourself carted off to the nearest asylum and leave me to rest in peace, please."

"Gee, thanks Hughes."

"You're welcome," the dark-haired knife thrower muttered, squinting balefully at his best friend. "Now shut up please. It's my one morning off for the next six months and I want to sleep in. You've already ruined my good night's sleep with your weird new habit of yelling in your sleep."

"I do not yell in my sleep," Roy denied scornfully as he started to get dressed, pulling his shirt over his head,

"Yes, you do," Maes replied, his voice slightly muffled by the shirt collar around Roy's ears. "You were yelling about someone calling you short. I wouldn't worry if I were you Firebug. The only one around here capable of calling you short is Alex Armstrong."

"Yeah. . ." Roy said vaguely. A thought struck him. "Does he really go around ripping off his shirt every time he uses alchemy?"

"Yep. Now go away please."

###

_Resembool._

Ed and Al waved goodbye to Winry and her Dad as they walked away. Winry had come over to play and her Dad had insisted on coming to get her before it got dark. Ed thought that was silly. It was summer now and the days were much longer. There was no way it'd get dark before Winry left, whatever time she decided to go home. He shrugged, not really bothered about it, and followed Al back inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Boys!" he heard his mom call. "Dinner's ready!"

Ed looked at his brother. Al grinned back and then they raced off, trying to see who could get to the kitchen first. Ed made it through the door just before Al and he grinned in triumph, running over to Mom to hug her. She smiled lovingly at him and squeezed back, holding out her arms to Al as well.

When they let go, Trisha started to cough.


	11. Meeting

After waking from nightmares and strange dreams on so many nights recently, it was with a relieved sigh that Mustang awoke in the back room of Ivan's. His sleep had been undisturbed the previous night and though he had had to sleep in his uniform, he felt much more refreshed this morning than he had the previous few days.

Rising from the small bed, Mustang saw that a neat pile of civilian clothes had been left on the battered wooden chair in the corner of the room. The pile consisted of an off-white shirt and a corduroy pants and jacket, both brown, though a slightly different shade from each other. Roy shook them out and noted with gratitude that though they were old and rather patched, the clothes were clean and comfortable.

Changing out of his uniform into the clothes that he suspected Stig had provided, Mustang pulled a glove onto his unbroken hand so that he could still defend himself in case one of the patrons of Ivan's from last night had hung around to let him know of their disapproval of his choice of clothing. The rest of his military clothing was quickly folded and stuffed into his backpack, safely out of sight. The Flame Alchemist was in fact, still mildly amazed that he'd managed to walk into Ivan's in his uniform and get as far as the back room without having his skull smashed by a ballistic beer bottle.

His safety seen to, Mustang pulled out his razor and shaved and washed his face using the jug and basin of water that had been left on the small chest of drawers on the other side of the room. He then investigated the drawers for a moment to see if there was perhaps a comb or brush to be found, but when he opened the second drawer and found what looked like a bacon sandwich from last year, he hastily shut it and abandoned his search, opting to fix his hair as much as he could with one hand instead.

Once Mustang exited the room, carefully closing the door behind him, he realised the reason for his night of interrupted sleep. Standing on either side of the door, were two men. Both men were dressed mostly in black leather with no _obvious_ weapons on them and they both easily topped six feet. Their stances told Mustang quite clearly that they had been guarding the door all night and were quite happy to go on guarding the door until they dropped dead. However, what immediately attracted the alchemist's attention was the insignia both men had tattooed on the back of their right hands.

To the average person the patterned circle might look like a complex alchemy array, but any trained alchemist would know that despite the similarity of the design to a great many arrays, the tattoo could not be used to transmute so much as a grain of sand. It was in fact a very old, very discreet coat of arms.

The taller of the two men cleared his throat in an oddly respectful way and said "I 'ope you slept well, Sir. I'm Knives and my partner 'ere is called Cecil."

Mustang stared, his mind blanking momentarily. "_Cecil?" _he asked in an incredulous voice before he could stop himself, staring at the huge bear of man in stained black leather, with more hair on his body than Mustang had ever expected to see on a human. The man in question growled and thumbed the long-bladed knife that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere to hang from his belt. Mustang had a sudden and clear impression of his rapidly dropping life expectancy. "Quite an old name, isn't it?" he said quickly. "From the old Xerxian word Caecilius, meaning blind."

The small mountain whose name he had just defined beamed at him. "That's right Sir," he said in an impressed voice. Mustang noted that the man spoke as if he was talking through gravel. "Not many people know that," Cecil continued, still beaming at him. "I can see that Sir is a learned man. Always a pleasure to meet another student of etymology."

Roy attempted not to look as if he was gaping in amazement and was immensely glad when Knives cleared his throat and motioned him towards the door, with Cecil falling in behind them.

"If it ain't too much trouble," Knives asked politely, "the Master would like a word with Sir. We've got a car waitin' out back, if Sir would come this way?"

The former General's mind briefly ran through the various consequences of refusal. All of them involved flash-frying his two new acquaintances and then running for his life for a few days before the small private army that he knew the owner of the coat of arms commanded caught up with him and overwhelmed him, delivering him to their Master with more than a few broken bones.

As he was already at a disadvantage with his broken arm, Mustang reluctantly concluded that refusing to accompany Knives and Cecil was not a possibility. Clearly his entrance into Ivan's had attracted the attention of Mr. George. The only option was to co-operate, go see the old man and hope he wouldn't end up in East River with weights tied to his feet.

So he did not object when he was respectfully but firmly escorted out the back of Ivan's and shown to a car with tinted windows which was waiting in the alley with it's motor still running. He hesitated only briefly before acquiescing when Knives requested that he keep his eyes closed 'as the Master likes to maintain his privacy and we'd prefer not to have to knock Sir out' and then settled back into his seat with Knives and Cecil on either side of him and a neat little man who'd been introduced as Draper in the driver's seat.

The car ride was long, taking up the better part of an hour as the driver twisted and turned around what Mustang knew were very unnecessary detours. Since he'd been more or less in command of East Headquarters while he'd been stationed there, (what with old General Grumman being a little absentminded to say the least) Mustang had quickly made it his business to know where prominent citizens who had 'absolutely no connection to criminal activity Colonel, aren't you quite the card, haha' lived.

However, he knew that from Mr. George's current perspective he was a person of interest who, as far as the old man would be able to tell, was new to East City, having arrived only yesterday on the morning train. Therefore some distracting detours while the person of interest was unable to see out of the car window were only prudent.

Eventually the car slowed and Mustang heard the sound of what he knew was a huge gate opening. The car moved forward again and the sound of rubber crunching against the gravel of the driveway filled Mustang's ears. Finally, the car stopped and the sound of the engine died away.

"Sir can open his eyes now, if he wishes," Knives told him, reaching over to the door handle as he did so. Mustang nodded in acknowledgement and scrubbed at his eyes, which were aching from staying shut without intent to sleep.

As he got out of the car, Mustang took a good look at the rather plain looking mansion before him. While it may not have been quite as outwardly magnificent as the houses that Alex Armstrong's family maintained in all Amestris' major cities, Mr. George's home was still impressive. It was also the best defended fortress in East City apart from the military's headquarters.

###

Unlike the utilitarian outside, the inside of Mr. George's mansion was both opulent and tasteful. Valuable antiques and artworks lined the hallway and the furnishings were of the highest quality. As it always had, seeing Mr. George's wealth made a tiny part of Roy Mustang's mind feel depressed. When one stood in a place like this with wealth and comfort all around them, it was hard to believe the police force's mantra that crime didn't pay. As far as he could see, crime was paying Mr. George very well.

The butler, who had met them when Knives knocked on the door, was an old man whose thick head of brown hair couldn't possibly be real. He was dressed in a dapper black suit and well-shined shoes. He had greeted Mustang with a polite 'if Sir would care to follow me' and closed the door, before guiding his Master's guest and his two minders to a book-filled study. Mustang had followed him down the maze-like hallways of the mansion, manfully attempting not to stare at the man's dreadfully false hair-piece, with Knives and Cecil trailing a respectful few feet behind.

Finally, the butler stopped in front of a lacquered wooden door. He knocked politely and waited for the assent of the person inside before opening it and ushering Mustang inside. "Your guest has arrived sir," he announced to the old man who was standing by an ornate fireplace, while a well stoked fire crackled in the grate.

The old man nodded to the butler. "Very good, Bentley, thank you." His gaze travelled to Knives and Cecil who now stood almost motionless, clearly awaiting orders. Mr. George smiled approvingly at them. "Thank you for seeing my guest here safely boys, now why don't you two take the rest of the day off and enjoy yourselves. It's beautiful outside. Go and enjoy the sunshine."

There was a chorused 'Yes sir, thank you sir' from the two men and then they left, leaving Mustang alone with their employer. Or at least, that was what he thought for a fraction of a second before a knife pressed against his throat.

"You forgot to have him searched, old man," said a sultry female voice next to Mustang's ear. He swallowed reflexively, but managed to keep his expression calm and blank. The owner of the voice was a tall woman with coal-black hair and dark eyes. Coupled with her looks, the slight accent in her words told Mustang that she was most likely an immigrant from central Xing.

The woman would have great beauty were it not for the ugly red-purple scar cutting through her right eyebrow and another pale one which ran down her left cheek all the way to her chin. Unlike the two men who'd just left, she was not dressed in black, but rather in muted gray and brown. Clearly someone used to working in the shadows, Mustang thought, and especially skilled too. He hadn't noticed her at all when he had entered the room.

The old man looked critically at Mustang's face for a second and then sighed. "My dear," he said, addressing the woman wearily. "I already know he is not armed. The boy walked into Ivan's in a military uniform last night with only a knife hidden in his boot and Madame's seal for protection. He's either the bravest man alive or has taken a few too many hits to the head. I haven't quite decided which." Mustang blinked at the man's knowledge and moved his foot carefully, his eyes widening in surprise as he realised the knife was gone.

The other man smiled at him and winked. "Ask Mister Stig when you get back to Ivan's and he'll return it to you." Mustang sighed inwardly, cursing himself for being taken off guard. To his relief, the older man nodded to his captor and the knife was withdrawn from his throat. The woman stepped back from Mustang, but she began idly tossing her knife in her hand, indicating that any sudden moves would be unwise.

"Mr. George," Mustang said respectfully, stepping forward and inclining his head to the old man who ran East City's underground society with a precise efficiency that the so-called bosses of Central's gangs could only dream of.

"Ah! You already know of me!" the old man declared happily. "That is convenient. Lengthy introductions bore me so. And such impeccable manners too!" He smiled approvingly at Mustang and gestured to a small island of chairs set around a polished wooden table piled high with books and papers. Mustang couldn't help noticing with interest that one of the books on the top was a rare alchemy text, one that Bradley had banned. _Interesting. . . _he thought. "Well, don't just stand there my boy," Mr. George continued. "Sit, sit, your legs must be getting tired." He grinned. "I know mine certainly are."

Mustang waited until the old man had seated himself on one side of the table before choosing the seat directly across from him. The woman who was probably the old man's personal bodyguard did not sit, choosing instead to stand behind her employer, still idly tossing a knife expertly from hand to hand.

Mr. George smiled again, noting the direction of Mustang's gaze. "Don't let Sakura bother you m'boy. She wouldn't hurt a fly really."

"Sakura?" the dark-eyed man said questioningly. "As in the Xingese word for cherry blossoms?" A grin tugged at his lips. Xingese girls named Sakura tended to be named with a specific fairytale princess in mind. The name did not suit the scarred warrior-woman _at all. _His grin widened when she glared furiously at him, clearly aware that he knew exactly what kind of ideal her parents had had in mind when they'd named her.

"I suppose her parents were expecting someone who would be more ladylike," her employer said, with an amused smile. "Poor Sakura is a great disappointment to them I believe. But her excellent skills mean she is of great value to me. And speaking of names, which you seem to be quite the authority on, you have yet to tell me yours."

For a minute Mustang sat there, unsure what to say. If he gave the man his real name then he would undoubtably do some background research and that might cause trouble for the twenty-year-old Roy Mustang. Besides, the man had recognised Madame's token. No, Mustang decided, using his real name was out of the question. Unfortunately, so was using any other names he could think of on the spot as they all belonged to people he knew.

When the old man raised an eyebrow questioningly Mustang realised they'd been sitting in silence for a full minute and he still hadn't given the man an answer. Unconsciously, he snapped his fingers in agitation and true to form, his glove threw off a spark."Or perhaps," Mr. George suggested with a grin upon seeing the glove's effect, "we should just call you Sparky."

Mustang bit back an insulted retort, remembering that yelling at this apparently frail defenceless old man was not the course of wisdom if one intended to go through life with their insides _on _the inside. To his irritation, Sakura was sniggering almost inaudibly. Clearly she found revenge to be sweet. Knowing he would regret this, but momentarily unable to come up with an alias that wouldn't cause trouble for his younger self or his friends, Roy shrugged indifferently and drawled "whatever you wish. One name is as good as another."

The old man's forehead wrinkled with surprise. "That's an odd belief for a soldier, isn't it? You boys are usually always ready to reel off name, rank and serial number. You have something to hide, lad?"

Mustang shrugged again, wincing slightly as he jarred his injured arm. "Not any more than the next soldier."

Abruptly, the scarred Sakura drew several small knives and thrust them into the cast surrounding Mustang's right arm. Before he could even blink, the crackle of alchemy filled the air and the ache in his broken arm ceased.

The old man smiled. "As you can see, my Sakura is quite the alkahestrist. If I'm not mistaken, you'll find that your arm is almost healed. I doubt you'll have to leave it in that cast for more than another week."

Mustang stood and bowed gratefully to the scarred woman and was pleased to note the slight flush on her cheeks. _Still got it_, he thought with satisfaction. When he sat down again, he found that Mr. George was looking at him thoughtfully. No, he realised, not just looking, _inspecting._ The man's eyes were concentrated intently on Roy's features as if he intended to memorise them and draw a picture.

"You know," Mr. George said conversationally, "you walked into Ivan's with only Madame's seal to protect you. Not to mention, you look very much like Madame's boy. I have someone keeping an eye on the young lad for her and frankly, the resemblance is amazing. I wasn't aware he had an older brother and unless I miss my guess, neither is Madame. So that begs the question of where exactly you came across her seal? You clearly know of its influence. Otherwise you'd never have walked into Ivan's in a uniform. Especially not with a broken arm."

"Yes, well," Roy said awkwardly, his brain yelling at him to come up with something good. "I'm not exactly related to him. Not as such. It's just an interesting coincidence to be honest."

"Really? And yet. . . such a strong resemblance. Fascinating."

"I suppose I just have one of those faces," Roy said with a disarming shrug.

"So. . . " the old man said slowly, an odd smile on his lips. "The fact that you could pass for the identical older brother of the Yao clan's lost prince is a mere coincidence?"

Roy froze. The thought flashed through his head like lightning. _How did he know? _For a second, that was all he could think and then his mind began to work double-time. How could the man know about his family? His foster-mother had assured him that only she knew.

Madame had told him exactly who he was right before he and the other State Alchemists had been dispatched to Ishbal. _'You must come home, you must survive',_ she had commanded him._ Lady Xiaofan gave up her life so that you could escape the consequences of the Emperor's hurt pride. Do not make her sacrifice a waste. You must come back and live a long life._

Mr. George laughed at his guest's deathly-pale face and frozen expression. "Dear boy, of course I know. It was I who helped Madame smuggle the boy out of Xing before he could be murdered. It is the fact that _you_ know that intrigues me. Madame and I took great pains to ensure secrecy. I understand the Yao clan has a new prince, a boy by the name of Ling. But if anyone were to know the old one was still alive. . ." The old man trailed off and Roy's stomach roiled in panic.

His assassination had been ordered by the Emperor himself. By his own father, because one of her enemies had made sure his mother was accused of having an affair and the Emperor had decided that he could not be sure that Roy, or Prince Xiaolang as he had been then, was his child. Never mind the fact that his mother, if she _had_ truly been unfaithful would only have had the chance _after_ Roy was born. The truth of it was, the Emperor of Xing had arranged the assassination of his second-eldest son because his pride was hurt.

The old man's eyes narrowed and when he spoke next, though his voice was soft, it was full of steel. "Madame would be greatly displeased, you know. That would be very distressing."

"I would like to think that I will never engage in an activity that causes you distress, Mr. George," Mustang said smoothly, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.

The old man laughed a deep belly-laugh. "You are quite the character young man. I like you."

Roy gave him a relieved smile. "Then perhaps we can help each other?" he suggested.

"Yes," Mr. George agreed with satisfaction. "I think we can come to an arrangement." He smiled amusedly back at Mustang. "And then you can ask Stig to give you your knife back."

"And there is this of course," the old man said, taking something from his pocket and holding it out to his guest. "I felt I should return this to you myself. Sakura tells me that it was transmuted, but I think the detail is a little sloppy. An amateur made it, I suppose? I think it's better to go to a craftsman if you want something like this made. They take more pride in their work, I find."

Mustang clenched his jaw. "That may be," he said tightly, "but this has sentimental value. It's lucky." He took the object from the man's hand and pocketed it, not willing to tell the man that the alchemists who had made the ornament had not been amateur, only very young.

###

_"It was all Al's idea," Ed insisted, hiding something behind his back, clearly still sulking over Roy's impending departure._

_"What was Al's idea?" he asked the boy. _

_Ed scrunched up his face and did not reply. Instead he took the object he was hiding behind him and pushed it into Roy's hand._

_It was a decorated horseshoe._

_"They're lucky," Al explained. "We made it for you." _

_"So you won't fall down again," Ed added. His tiny hands gripped the bottom of Roy's jacket. "And so you remember to come back."_

_Roy smiled and knelt, hugging both boys. "Of course I'll come back," he promised, running a hand through two heads of blond hair. "Of course I'll come back."_

###

_Barracks, Central Headquarters._

_Bastard, _the voice said wearily, _I'm still here. Getting plastered isn't going to make me go away._

"It might," the young dark-haired man said aloud, swallowing another mouthful of truly awful beer as he sat, hunched over, on the edge of his bunk.

_You're talking out loud to the voice in your head, _the voice of FullMetal pointed out._ If anyone hears you they'll think you're insane._

"And they'd be right!" Roy yelled hysterically. "What'll I say? It's okay, the voice in my head says I'm not crazy." He went to set the beer bottle down beside him and missed. It crashed into the floor, shattering and soaking the young Major's boots with cheap beer.

_Look Mustang, calm down for God's sake,_ FullMetal said in exasperation.

"I'm an alchemist!" Roy snapped back. "God's sake can go hang! I believe in science and truth and, and rational explanations!"

_So do I, you drama queen. It was just a turn of phrase, bastard._

"Would you stop calling me that?" Roy yelled, jumping to his feet, heedless of the glass crunching under his boots. "Oh no, now I'm talking back to the crazy voice!"

_Would you shut up for a minute, Bastard, _FullMetal's voice roared. Roy flinched in fear and sat back down on his bunk, gripping his shoulders. To his surprise there was silence for a second and the feeling of another presence in his mind vanished briefly.

When he spoke again, FullMetal's voice was much calmer, to the point that Roy would have almost described it as gentle. _Look. . . Roy. I'm sorry, okay? Just calm down. Please calm down, okay Roy?_

Even if it was a crazy schizophrenic voice, Roy figured it had a good point. If he didn't stay calm, then other people would notice and he'd probably be sent to a mental hospital. Or worse. What did they do to crazy State Alchemists anyway?

So Roy sat up and concentrated on breathing in and out. The voice was momentarily silent and the young alchemist's panic began to subside. "It's not real," he told himself. "You're just tired."

_No, I am real, _FullMetal's voice said and Roy's panic returned full-force.

"You're not real," he insisted pathetically. "You're not! You can't be!"

_I am, _the voice of FullMetal said, his tone still much gentler. _I'm here. I'm sorry I scared you. _

"Oh, well thanks a lot!" Roy snapped. "That makes me feel _so _much better!"

_I'm sorry, _FullMetal repeated. To Roy's surprise, the disembodied voice in his head did sound guilty and also a little embarrassed. _I guess. . . I guess the possibility that you'd be scared never occurred to me._

"Why the hell not?" Roy demanded harshly, still somewhat flustered.

_'Cos. . . well, _the voice of FullMetal hesitated, sounding sheepish,_ 'cos you're Mustang I guess. Nearly four years and I never saw you do much more than widen your eyes._

"Huh?"

_Never mind. Anyway, I am sorry. But I'm here and I'm real. You're not crazy Roy, I promise. And I _always_ keep my promises._

Roy looked down at his hands. They were still shaking and he still felt a long way from calm, but. . . the voice sounded so sincere."Can I at least have a name?" he asked. "Not 'FullMetal' that sounds like a state alchemist title. It's not a name. If you're real, a proper person, then you have a name. You're staying in my head. Don't I at least deserve to know your name?"

There was a brief silence and then FullMetal sighed in defeat. _I guess you do. I'm Edward._

"That's uh, nice," Roy stammered, still not quite able to believe he was having such a surreal conversation. "It suits you. Edward . . . Eddie?"

_No, _the voice said firmly._ Ed. Okay?_

"Okay," Roy agreed. "But if I'm calling you Ed then you have to call me Roy. Not Mustang or bastard, I mean, you already have, it's not as if you can't. Right?"

_Yeah. . . okay. . . Roy. _There was a pause and then Edward spoke again. _Calling you that is really, really weird, you know?_

"What's wrong with it?" Roy asked defensively. "It's my name. It's a good name. Much better than being referred to as 'bastard." Roy paused, some of his confidence returning. _"Shorty."_

_WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE'S TOO SMALL FOR HIS NAME, YOU JERK?_


	12. Revelation

_Central Headquarters,_

After much discussion about propriety, good timing, manners and _much_ consumption of painkillers to ease his self-inflicted hangover, Roy Mustang had eventually come to a detailed agreement with the voice in his head which called itself Edward. Most of this agreement consisted of the times that Edward was _not _allowed to talk, lest important people notice that Roy was listening to a voice in his head and ship him off to the madhouse, which, thankfully, Roy's new invisible friend had agreed would be a bad thing.

So now, here he was in Colonel Grand's office listening to his superior drone on about the rising hostilities in the Ishbal region and the importance of keeping an eye out for dissidents that might make their way to Central to cause trouble in Amestris' capital city. As per what his invisible passenger had mockingly nicknamed the FullMetal-Flame Peace Accord, Edward was blessedly silent. Thus Roy was able to focus all his attention on the Colonel in the hope that seeing an attentive and keen subordinate might prompt Grand to get the point and tell Roy what his first assignment as a State Alchemist was going to be, instead of waxing damn-near poetic on how the whole of Ishbal was a waste of space and nothing more than a breeding ground for rebels and terrorists.

As Roy bit down on a yawn that was making a serious and valiant effort to escape his mouth, Grand finally wound down his 'all of Ishbal should be burnt to the ground' speech and picked up a file which had been strewn rather carelessly across his desk. As the Colonel shuffled the papers back into something that vaguely resembled order, he looked down at his dark-haired subordinate over his oversized mustache and handed a page to the young Flame Alchemist.

Roy looked at it curiously. The page he'd just been handed was a personnel file. The personnel file of a State Alchemist in fact. "Sir?" he asked in confusion.

"Gerhardt Kreiner," Colonel Grand announced. "The Animal Alchemist. He disappeared without a trace a year ago. His speciality was creating chimeras to serve as weapons and guard dogs for the border bases. Recently we've had reports that he was sighted heading to East City. Also, people have been disappearing in towns that he's been sighted in. I suspect Animal is behind it. He was on the cusp of being arrested for unauthorised and unethical experiments and was also implicated in the disappearance of two children when he vanished. As a former State Alchemist with extensive experience of combat alchemy he's too much for anyone but another State Alchemist to handle. Your orders are to bring him in alive, if it's possible. If not, destroy him. He's too dangerous to be running around loose."

Roy's urge to yawn vanished and his stomach turned unpleasantly. Missing people and a rogue alchemist who specialised in biological transmutation did not a reassuring picture make. A hot feeling in the middle of his forehead told him that Edward had awoken from the odd semi-slumber he'd gone into upon their entrance into Colonel Grand's office and was now looking out Roy's eyes at the IronBlood Alchemist. Roy got the distinct impression that Edward was paying close attention to the Colonel's briefing.

As your state qualification is new," Grand continued, "you're especially suited to the task of arresting him. Kreiner won't have heard of you, and if by some chance he has, he certainly won't recognise you. Your low profile will be to your advantage. I suggest you take that into account while you locate him. Keep your head down until you have a chance to take Kreiner out. Otherwise you could end up as his next experiment. Now that you're assigned to me Flame, you'll be doing a lot of fieldwork from now on, seeing as how your talents are especially suited to dealing with agitators, so you'd better get used to it. Your train leaves for East City tomorrow morning. Dismissed."

Roy saluted and exited the office as fast as he dared. Edward was clamouring for his attention now. He had to get somewhere where having a conversation with someone that no one else could hear would not draw undue attention to him. The dorms were the safest option, he decided. It wasn't even late evening yet, so none of his room-mates would be there, and even if they were they'd only be there for a short while before leaving for the nearest open pub, barring Hughes who would only be there for a short while before going to the theatre with whats-her-name. Grace, wasn't it?

(That reminded him, he was a State Alchemist now, and a Major. He was entitled to his own room surely?)

The hot feeling in the middle of Roy's forehead that signaled that Edward was trying to get his attention ceased abruptly. Instead, a shiver ran through Roy's body. He felt bitingly cold, as though he'd been dumped in iced water.

_Hughes, _he heard Edward's voice whisper in a horrified tone as shivers ran down his spine. _Hughes!_

_Edward? Ed?_ Roy asked silently, stopping dead in his tracks. _Edward? What's wrong? Are you all right?_

There was no answer from the passenger in his mind. Without quite knowing why, Roy suddenly felt unbearably guilty. His shoulders shook and a feeling of terrible loss welled up within him. Light-headed and nauseous, he rushed back to the dorms as fast as possible, throwing the door open when he got there and dropping onto the closest bunk with a sickly sigh. He lay there with his eyes closed, breathing heavily and trying to ease the ache in his shuddering body, until the creak of the floorboards alerted him to another presence in the room.

"Bloody hell Roy," a comfortingly familiar voice said in a worried tone, "you look like shit. What's happened to you? Do you need to go to the infirmary, firebug?"

Roy opened his eyes. Maes Hughes was standing over him, hovering protectively with a look of concern in his bright green eyes. "Roy?" the dark-haired knife thrower asked again. "You're as white as a sheet. Are you ill? Do you need me to drag you over to see old Knox?"

Heartbreak and pain that was not his own burned in Roy's chest as he looked up at his friend. The feeling of loss intensified a thousand times, becoming unbearable. Roy felt tears start to prick at the corner of his eyes as he sat up and opened his mouth to assure Hughes that he was fine. All that came out was a half-strangled wail of misery that sounded incredibly disturbing, even to Roy. He could see that it certainly worried Hughes.

The bespectacled man's eyes widened as concern turned to fear and he quickly took hold of the alchemist's shaking shoulders, intending to help him lie back down on the bed. To Hughes' dismay, he never got the chance. Instead he was obliged to yell for help as his best friend collapsed into unconsciousness on top of him, his normally calm and collected face etched with terrible pain and guilt.

"Crap," Hughes muttered as he tried to lift Roy's weight off of him and back onto the bed. "I'll take that as a yes." He turned to the soldier who had come running at the shout for help. "Get a medic up here _now,_ Private!" Hughes roared.

The luckless private ran faster than he ever had in his life. Inside Roy's head, Edward wailed a guilt-ridden apology.

###

When Roy opened his eyes again, he found himself flat on his back with a thin blanket draped across his chest. As he blinked his eyes and adjusted to the brightness of what he realised was a room in the infirmary, the dark, blurry shape next to him resolved itself into Second Lieutenant Maes Hughes. Noticing that his friend had woken, Hughes took a glass of water from the table next to him and handed it to him.

"Hey firebug," Hughes asked as Roy gratefully swallowed the last of the water, "what happened to you? You were fine this morning and then you just. . ." He trailed off, looking questioningly at his friend.

Roy shrugged, unable to provide an answer that wouldn't sound crazy. Now that his head was clear, he had a slight idea of what might have happened. The last thing he remembered before everything went black was Edward's voice in his mind, desperately apologising to someone and crying like a child. It was as if Edward had had some kind of emotional overload, so much so, that it had affected Roy. The feelings of pain and loss that he'd experienced certainly hadn't been his own. Were they Edward's feelings? What could have initiated his invisible passenger's temporary breakdown?

"Roy?" Hughes asked again, bringing the young alchemist out of his musings. "Are you sure you don't know what happened? You looked like you were in a lot of pain. If you know what caused it-"

Roy held up a hand, silencing the Lieutenant briefly. "I have no idea Maes," he lied quickly. "How long was I out?"

"Coupla' hours," Hughes answered. "It's past midnight now." Seeing that his friend appeared to be recovered from his fit, Hughes added playfully "I missed my date because of you, firebug. My beautiful girlfriend was incredibly sensitive and understanding, of course! She insisted that I stay by my fallen friend's bedside. Want to see her picture? Basking in the glow of her sheer amazingness will have you feeling better in no time!"

Roy groaned. "Is there any way I could persuade you to-" He stopped, his words cut off as he stared at the unbelievable sight that was slowly becoming more and more visible in the corner of the infirmary ward.

"Y'know, just before you collapsed you looked at me like you'd seen a ghost." Hughes paused and took in his best friend's expression. "Just like you're doing right now, as a matter of fact. Roy, are you okay?"

Roy ignored the question, continuing to stare at the shape that was slowly taking form in the corner of the room. It was a human shape, halo'd in golden light, it's features slowly becoming more defined. As he watched, the last of the blurring cleared away to reveal the tense face of the golden-eyed man he'd last seen in his dreams.

The golden-lit image waved sheepishly.

_"Uh. Hi. Can we talk?"_

"Maes?" Roy asked carefully, "Thanks for helping out. Why don't you get back to the dorms? I, uh, think we should both get some sleep. I've got a train to catch in the morning."

Hughes did a double take. "Roy, you just passed out for who-knows-what reason. Don't you think you should take medical leave for a few days, so that the doctors can find out happened? There's got to be someone else who can take whatever mission you've been given."

Roy shook his head emphatically, an action he immediately regretted. Ignoring the swimming sensation, he replied. "No can do. This is the first assignment I've been given as a qualified State Alchemist. The last thing I need is my commanding officer thinking I can't handle the responsibility." He grinned reassuringly at Hughes. "Don't worry about me, Maes. I'll be fine and back before you know it. Now, go get some rest."

Hughes gave him a look which suggested that he thought Roy's deck was missing a few cards, but, seeing the determination in his friend's eyes, he nodded reluctantly and quietly let himself out of the room, the door closing softly behind him.

As soon as Hughes was out the door, the tension in FullMetal/Edward's face relaxed considerably.

"So. . ." Roy said slowly (and quietly, for fear of being overheard talking to no one,) "what the hell happened? And, since we're now talking face to face, would you please explain _how_ we're talking face to face? How are you here in front of me and inside my head at the same time?"

_"It's complicated," _Edward said awkwardly.

"So un-complicate it already!" Roy snapped.

_"It's very complicated."_

"And I'm very smart. They don't give the silver watch to dumb people. So spill. What happened? I could feel. . . what you were feeling? Am I right?"

_"Yes."_ Edward replied, kicking his heel in apparent embarrasment. _"I'm sorry 'bout that. I just. . . lost control. I couldn't. . . seeing _him_ again was. . . I never meant for it to bleed over into you. I'm not sure how that happened."_

Suspicion bloomed in Roy's mind and he looked speculatively at the incorporeal man. "It was Hughes, wasn't it? He's the 'him' you just mentioned. Why did you react like that to him? What could be so bad that you'd freak out like that?"

Edward was silent.

"Edward," Roy said urgently, "why were you so upset? Please tell me. Maes is my best friend. Why are you so afraid of him?"

_"What?" _the shorter man blurted, his head jerking upwards to stare at Roy in surprise. "_Afraid of Hughes? I'm _not_ afraid of Hughes. I just-" _He stopped, shaking his head. "_I'm not afraid of Hughes,"_ he repeated.

"Then why did you freak out so much that _I_ collapsed? What _happened_?"

The glowing figure sighed and walked over to the bed, flopping onto the end. Roy noted that there was no indentation or sinking of the mattress, confirming what he'd thought when the image of Edward had first appeared only to be totally ignored by Hughes. The boy was just that, an image. Presumably, Roy was the only one who could see or hear him.

_"Look,"_ Edward said slowly, _"it's-"_

"Complicated," Roy said impatiently, interrupting him. "Yes. So you keep telling me. But's it's about time I got an explanation, don't you think? I still don't really know who _you_ are, or where you're from, or, well, anything really. We appear to be stuck with each other, so we might as well be honest with each other."

_"Trust me, if I tell you everything at once, you'll panic and have a nervous breakdown. Call me crazy, but I don't think that would help either of us right now."_

"Then how about starting off with little things?" Roy suggested. "Like, where you're from, or, how you got into my head? I'm really eager to hear that, actually."

_"I died."_

Well, that was one heck of a conversation killer.

Roy stared at the off-white cotton sheets of the bed, unable to come up with a suitable reply to Edward's blunt declaration. What was he supposed to say? Alright yes, as soon as he'd accepted that Edward wasn't a figment of his imagination he'd suspected the other man wasn't exactly in the land of the living. But what did you say to someone who'd died? 'How did you kick the bucket?' seemed a trifle insensitive.

Luckily for Roy, the helpless awkwardness of his expression moved Edward to take pity on him.

_"When someone dies," _he explained, "_their soul passes through the Gate, on it's way to wherever souls go. I didn't go on. I got to the Gate and was stopped."_

"Why?" Roy asked, fascinated by the knowledge that there appeared to be some kind of existence after death. "What is the Gate?"

_"It's. . ."_ Edward paused, as if he was trying to find a way to explain the unexplainable. Which, Roy realised with a start, he sort of was. _"Like a gateway between dimensions," _the self-confessed deceased continued, having marshalled his thoughts. _"The Gate is the source of all alchemic power. The gate is the reason for equivalent exchange." _The set of Edward's mouth turned bitter._ "It upholds Equivalent Exchange." _

_"Anyway," _he continued, _"I died and my soul got to the Gate again and then. . . it spoke to me. Said I was owed and that it'd give me a reward, send me to someone who could help me set things right."_

"Me?" Roy asked in awed bewilderment. "Why me? What can I possibly do?"

Edward smirked at him. _"Scared? And here I thought you were the great Flame Alchemist."_

Roy glared at him. "Well, of course," he proclaimed somewhat loftily, determined not to lose any dignity to the other man. "But you seem to be talking about change-the-world stuff. I can't see myself doing anything like that."

Edward stared at him for a minute and then said wonderingly, "_Y'know this entire conversation is amazingly ironic. It really is."_

Confused and somewhat fed up by Edward's cryptic remark, Roy decided to change the subjecct to something a little less awkward. "You seem familiar with alchemic laws and theory. I take it you were an alchemist?"

_"Yep,"_ Edward answered, a spark of pride in his eyes. _"A damn good one. I was a prodigy. FullMetal was my state title."_

Roy searched his memory. "I haven't heard of you," he said, rather confused once more. "And you said you'd been in the military since you were twelve, but that's impossible. No one that young would be allowed to take the examinations. It's not possible."

_"Not yet it isn't. I also said I was expecting you to be fourteen years older than me. Keep in mind the Gate that sent me to you is a doorway between dimension. C'mon Mustang, use that oh-so-brilliant brain of yours. Figure it out."_

Roy stared in shock, his jaw dropping open. "You. . . you're from the future?" he said disbelievingly. "But that's. . . It's not. . . You can't," he babbled, waving his hands in the air. As Edward continued to sit there calmly, halo'd in the soft golden light and grinning at him, Roy's doubts drained away. "You really _are _from the future."

_"Yep," _Edward said happily. _"Right now, my younger self is about. . . six, I think."_

Roy frowned as a thought came to him. "When we spoke in my dream. . . you said you were expecting 'Colonel Bastard'."

To the dark-haired man's surprise, Ed blushed. "_When I joined the military, you were my comanding officer," _he was told._ "I wasn't exactly fond of you. I mean, you were a jerk. A good jerk!"_ Edward said hastily, "_but still a jerk."_

"A bastard apparently", Roy said, rather depressedly. Was he really going to be an asshole when he got older?

Edward scowled. _"Trust me, older you took that as a compliment."_ But then, seeing Roy's dismay, his expression softened. _"We didn't get along, but. . . he looked out for me and my brother. At the time, I didn't realise how much. I was just a kid and I was so focused on my own problems that I didn't realise how much you- that is, he protected us."_ He put a glowing hand on Roy's arm. _"Look Roy, the Colonel Mustang I knew was a manipulative bastard and really, really annoying. He used to amuse himself by driving me nuts everytime I had to report in. But he was _also_ a good man who looked out for his friends and was respected by his subordinates. Well, except me. But I didn't respect any military people, really. I was a bit of a brat really." _

"You? A brat?" Roy managed to say mock-incredulously, though he was touched by the golden-haired man's description of his older self. "Surely not!"

"_Yeah, yeah," _Edward grumbled goodnaturedly. "_Rub it in, why don't you? You should get some sleep. Got a train to catch tomorrow, remember."_

_###_

When morning came, Roy was subject to a visit by his irritated superior officer, who was not pleased by the fact that his newest subordinate had collapsed for no discernable reason. The doctor on duty at the infirmary who had examined the unconscious Major Mustang the previous night had been unable to find any obvious medical reason for his collapse and was having difficulty with Colonel Grand's impromptu interrogation.

Having failed to get a satisfactory answer from the harassed doctor, Grand turned his attention to Roy. "Are you sure you're up to the task, Mustang?" he growled "I _was _under the impression that you were a capable soldier. I have no use for alchemists who fall ill from the slightest bit of exertion. If you're going to make a habit of collapsing, you can save me the trouble and request a transfer to work in the research labs right now. I understand those lazy-ass penpushers spend all their time at their desks, so if you pass out there you can at least be sure that your new commanding officer won't notice. Well?" Grand demanded.

"I'm in perfect condition sir," Roy assured his superior officer, intensely glad that he'd had time to shower and get into uniform before the Colonel had arrived. It was much easier to claim perfect health when his appearance matched his words.

"Really?" Grand asked sceptically. "What about your collapse?"

"I missed a few meals preparing for the State Examinations, that's all, Roy lied smoothly. "I'm fully recovered now sir."

Grand looked him up and down and then grunted, apparently appeased. "Then get out of here, Mustang," he ordered. "You have a train to catch."

Roy saluted and walked calmly out the infirmary door. Once he was sure he was out of the Colonel's earshot, he started to run. He did not want to have to wait hours for the next train to East. Luckily for the young Major, it was still early and the streets of Central had yet to become busy with traffic. Roy made it to the East-bound train with ten minutes to spare. He sighed with relief as he boarded the train and quickly located an empty compartment, gravitating automatically to the seat by the window. He had always preferred being able to watch the world go by when he travelled by train.

As he sat in the compartment waiting for the East-bound train to leave a knock on the window caught Roy's attention. He slid the window back. A cheery "Hey firebug!" greeted him.

"Hughes?" Roy said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

The bespectacled man looked at him at him with a hurt expression. "What? I can't just come to see you off with no ulterior motive?"

Roy gave him a Look.

Hughes dropped the kicked-puppy look and grinned. "Just came to see you were alright after last night," he admitted.

"I'm fine," Roy assured him. "Really. Look at me, I'm the picture of health."

"Yeah. You do look better, I can see that. So. . . your first mission as a fully qualified State Alchemist." Hughes sucked air between his teeth. "You nervous?"

Roy shrugged. "Not really. I just have to find the Animal Alchemist and bring him in, right? The guy's dangerous to civilians no doubt, but I don't think he'll be a match for my fire alchemy."

_Well. Aren't _we _full of ourselves? _Edward's voiced mocked. Roy graced him with a mental glare and unconsciously pulled himself out of his slouch to his full height

"Animal, huh. So what did he used to do?" Hughes asked curiously.

"Created chimeras for the border bases," Roy told him.

"I was right," Hughes deadpanned. "The Fuhrer has absolutely no imagination when it comes to naming State Alchemists."

In a brief fit of immaturity, Roy stuck his tongue out at his best friend. In the back of his head, Edward burst into laughter.

A whistle blew signaling the train's departure and Hughes stepped back as the big locomotive began to move. "Good luck Roy," he called loudly as the train moved away. "Maybe you'll find a nice girl in East!"

The Flame Alchemist wondered if it was possible to singe only someone's eyebrows from a moving vantage point. Edward volunteered that he was pretty sure that the Colonel Mustang he knew could've done that easily. Roy nodded and made a mental note to start practicing.


	13. Mission

_East City, 1 day earlier._

As he sat across from the little man who held power over East City's underground community, Mustang considered his words carefully. He really had no desire to get more involved with criminal society than he already was, but something about Mr. George's face told him that the little man wanted something from him, and having East City's biggest crime boss owe him a favour might come in handy down the line.

Besides, he realised, if he was to associate himself with criminals temporarily, well so what? The consequences that would have stopped him from considering the idea no longer existed. He was no longer a respected officer in the military and he had no money and nothing but the clothes on his back. There was nothing to lose, no military status under threat. And as long as he kept his identity and old associations to himself, there would be no danger to his younger self or his friends.

Decision made, he looked the older man in the eye and said "what kind of 'arrangement' did you have in mind?"

Mr. George gave him a thin, shark-like smile. "My. . . employees, shall we say, have been running into problems as of late. There is something disturbing, something _wrong_ going on in this city and I would like it to stop. Unfortunately my people have been less than fortunate when dealing with the problem. I believe you could provide. . . valuable assistance."

"And. . .what makes you think I need help?" Mustang drawled.

The old man looked at Mustang sharply. "Do not take me for a fool boy. You appear in East City out of the blue and you walk into Ivan's in a uniform with only a knife and a piece of silver to protect you. If you had died, I believe the police would have marked the official cause of death as 'assisted suicide' or possibly 'terminal stupidity'. You seem to have no name or identification to speak of. And then of course, there's your jacket."

"My jacket?" Mustang asked in a politely amused tone, unsure where the other man was going with this line of conversation. "It came with the rest of the uniform. Standard wear for military personnel."

If Mr. George's smile had been shark-like before, it now resembled a Great White that had just smelled blood. "You know," the old man said conversationally, "to get anywhere in my business, you have to be observant. Unpleasant things tend to happen to those who are not. As I am at the top of my business, I make it a point to notice _everything._"

Though sudden unease had begun to grow in the pit of his stomach, Mustang merely smiled serenely at the old man. "I wouldn't presume to think of hiding anything from such an observant man as yourself. No doubt you know where many bodies are buried. Metaphorically speaking, of course."

The elderly crime boss laughed. "Very good! You _are_ skilled at this, aren't you? How fascinating. Not something I'd expect from a man with corporal's stripes." The sharklike smile returned as the old man added, "and that is exactly my point. Your jacket's lack of decoration marks you as a corporal, true, but as I said, I notice things. And when you entered Ivan's last night I happened to notice that the shoulder seemed to be ripped. Perhaps because the uniform belongs to a soldier who prefers to hide his correct rank? Hmm?"

Not waiting for an answer, the man continued "though I doubt you're a deserter, otherwise you would have dumped the uniform altogether. That suggests. . . a retired soldier who hung onto his uniform. Which is odd, because you seem rather young to have retired from the military, not to mention, just being retired isn't a reason to hide your rank. So perhaps you stole the uniform? Except as I said, I notice things, and I noticed that not only do you hold yourself like a soldier, your uniform fits you perfectly, which is odd because the military has standard sizes. Only senior officer's uniforms are made to fit. Nothing about you adds up m'boy. You're a puzzle, you are."

Mustang silently inclined his head in acknowledgement, internally cursing his own carelessness and Hawkeye's incredible efficiency. Though he was confused as to how she had managed on the fly to find him a Brigadier General's jacket that fit him as well as the one he'd been issued with upon his original promo. . . _Oh, _he realised, the first thought trailing off. _She kept my original jacket. That's. . . interesting._

_###_

Berthold George, currently undisputed ruler of the underside of East City, watched as the man he'd mentally dubbed 'Sparky' absorbed all of his words without looking perturbed in the slightest. He was rather impressed at the boy's ability to control his face. He had to be a least a little worried surely, yet all his expression showed was polite interest. The contradictions surrounding him were numerous and inexplicable. It was all rather fascinating, Berthold thought privately.

"Perhaps you have a point," the dark-haired man said eventually. "I may need some assistance. But so do you, no? Otherwise you would not have gone to the bother of pointing that all that interesting information out. What is it that you want me to help you with? You said your people were encountering problems. I sympathise up to a point and I would be happy to trade your assistance for mine, but," the mysterious soldier paused and Berthold George saw steel enter his dark eyes, "I will not do anything that threatens innocent people. And I will not be tricked into hurting innocent people. If that is your intention, I can tell you right now there will be nothing left of you but a pile of ash."

Berthold raised an eyebrow at that, even as Sakura threw a knife with deadly accuracy, landing it between the finger's of 'Sparky's' left hand. It was an odd threat to make. Military boys tended to threaten with guns, not arson. The crime lord was once again reminded of Christmas Mustang's foster-son. His people in Central had sent along word that the boy had passed the state examinations with flying colours, (although one informer insisted the boy had had a terrible hangover courtesy of his enthusiastic knife throwing friend at the time,) and been appropriately named the Flame Alchemist.

Sitting opposite him, threatening him with incineration was a man who could easily pass for young Roy's older brother, if not an older version of the young alchemist himself. While Berthold had considered that he might be a relative of the boy's from Xing, in addition to his well-fitting military uniform, the man had no discernable Xingian accent. If anything, there was a hint of a good few years in East City in his voice. And that was just _impossible._ It was bizarre. Truly bizarre.

Berthold smiled at Sakura's disgruntled expression as 'Sparky' worked the knife point out of the table and handed it to her with an extremely charming smile. He had barely flinched when the knife landed between his fingers. It seemed to Berthold that this offended Sakura. She did not like it when people were not intimidated by her and 'Sparky's' smile indicated that he was not intimidated in the slightest, but apparently an old hand at dealing with knife-wielding women.

"As it happens," Berthold told 'Sparky' in a conciliatory tone, "aiding me in the resolution of my little problem can only benefit all the citizens of this city."

"Well, isn't that convenient," the dark-haired man purred, "you're acting for the public interest? Please don't be offended, but I find that a little hard to believe. Your reputation precedes you, you understand."

"Quite," Berthold assured him, making a mental note to have his people find out _everything_ they could about this soldier with no name. "However, I am very serious about what I said earlier. There is something dreadfully wrong in this city." He hardened his tone, "and it is killing my people and your precious 'innocents' indiscriminately. I want it stopped and I think you can help me."

The soldier's eyes widened slightly and he leaned forward, suddenly focusing intently on Berthold's face. "And why do you think I can be of help? he asked.

"Because this problem has alchemy involved in it, and if you aren't an alchemist Sparky, then I will eat my coffee table," Berthold said flatly.

The dark-eyed man nodded, confirming Berthold's guess. "Yes. I am." He gestured to Sakura. "But don't you already have an alchemic expert here? I couldn't have done anything like what she has achieved."

Berthold sighed. "Yes and that is a problem Sakura shares with you. She is an alkahestrist, using her alchemy mostly for healing, something that is not common in Amestrian alchemy. She is also rather out of her depth when it comes to what you might think of as advanced alchemy. Xingian arrays and methods are very different to Amestrian ones."

"Ahh," the soldier said in comprehension. "You need an expert in Amestris' more destructive alchemy, is that it?"

"Just so," Berthold admitted, "and I think you fit the bill. I do not want to lose anymore people, and I am getting rather tired of the military and police ignoring these murders because it is convenient for them."

The soldier clenched his jaw, apparently insulted. "How can you be so sure that these murders are being ignored?" The question was, not quite, a demand.

Berthold sighed. "Because my boy, if the people who end up dead are the so-called dregs of society, the law-enforcers aren't too bothered about finding out who did it. They're dismissing the murders as territorial warfare. I assure you it isn't."

"Well _you_ would know, I suppose," 'Sparky' murmured thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. "Still I don't see-"

"There's more," Berthold interrupted him. "There are more murders than the police think. Bodies are turning up where my people come across them. And they are mutilated boy! They barely look human. I could only identify them because they still had my insignia on what was left of their hands!"

"And your people haven't reported these bodies because they think the police will just blame it on, ahh, territorial disputes, yes?"

"Exactly," Berthold confirmed. "Those bodies. . . I am not a squeamish man, I am sure you are aware. But those. . . things. It was hard to believe they had ever been human."

"And you're sure there's an alchemist involved?" the dark-eyed soldier asked intently.

"Only alchemy could desecrate the human body like this," Berthold said flatly. "And we're finding more bodies every day." Disgust and fury piled in his throat and he growled out his next sentence. "The latest ones were children."

###

Mr. George's revelation quashed any doubts in Mustang's mind that he might be exaggerating or lying. Master criminal willing to kill and torture his enemies he might be, but everyone knew the old man would die before employing anyone who had hurt a child. There were some lines even he would not cross and the old man was proud of that.

Mustang knew he considered it a point of honour, and also that because of this, the police had an unspoken truce with Mr. George's men in some areas. The last time a child-killer had been active in East, he had swiftly been deposited by 'concerned citizens' outside the East Police department's main headquarters _sans_ certain important 'bits'.

Mustang shook himself out of his musings to find the old man once more watching him speculatively. "Whatever alchemist is doing this, he's getting better," Mr. George said quietly. "The latest corpses look almost human. The most recent one is still in my basement. Come see it. If you don't want to get involved afterwards I will understand, but I hope you can help, because I don't know who else can."

Mustang nodded and stood, following Mr. George out the door and down a long corridor, with the ever-present Sakura trailing a few feet behind them, still tossing her knife from hand to hand. The little old man led him down a staircase to a pair of large bolted doors, where Knives and Cecil were waiting obediently. Cold permeated the air and Mustang huffed out a breath which turned to mist in front of him.

The butler, Bentley, had joined then somewhere along the interminably long hallway and was now unbolting the reinforced doors. Once that was done the doors were pulled open by the two strongmen. As Mustang was ushered inside into the freezing room he realised it was a morgue.

The small cloth covered shape lay on a steel table, looking even tinier because the table was so large. Mustang steeled himself before walking over and pulling away the cloth. He gasped upon seeing the small body. Now he knew what Berthold George had meant when he said the bodies had been desecrated.

The body was that of a young boy perhaps thirteen years old. He looked half-starved and had more than his fair share of scars, marking him as a street kid, either an orphan or he had parents who just didn't care. Arrays dotted his chest and arms, burnt straight into the skin. The most striking thing though, was that curled around the boy's waist was a tail. Already suspecting what he would find, Mustang turned the boy on his side. The tail was attached to the boy, joining his body in a triangular patch of fur just at the end of his spine. There were more arrays on the boy's back.

Mustang laid the boy back down on the table, feeling sick. Fearing what he would find, he slid an eyelid open. As he had expected, the pupil behind it was yellow. But unlike the natural yellow gold of Edward Elric's eyes, this pupil was narrow and shaped like a cat's. Mustang flexed his hands angrily, trying not to show his rising bad temper.

He turned to Mr. George. "You were right," he grated out between clenched teeth, "an alchemist did this. Whoever they are, they transmuted that child and combined it with an animal. Probably a cat. But the transmutation is too rough. The child's body couldn't handle the realignment of so many muscles and bones. He probably died from the pain of his body tearing itself apart from the inside."

Mr. George nodded sadly. "You see now why I say he must be stopped? He is going after those who society will not miss and they have no defence against him. I do not abide by society's laws and regulations, I make no secret of that, at least not to you, but even I can see that this is _wrong_."

Mustang looked at him thoughtfully. "Your position means that you must hear all kinds of information," he said delicately. "Do you have _no _clues as to who's doing this or where he's hiding?"

Mr. George scowled. "Only one" he growled. "He's hiding his lair somewhere in the sewers. I have already sent men down there." He gestured to the corpse. "They returned looking similar to that, only not as human. Their faces were torn to shreds. Something down there had eaten half of them." He walked over to Mustang and looked up at him. "Is there _anything_ you can tell me about that body that can help me locate this maniac?"

"I . . . don't know," Mustang replied slowly, "something about these arrays is. . . odd. Give me some time, I may be able to figure something out."

The old man nodded his assent. "Very well," he replied, "Cecil will show you where to find me when you have something." With that he left followed by the butler, Sakura and Knives. Cecil stood by the door, waiting patiently.

Mustang turned his attention back to the body. Something about the arrays bothered him. They felt familiar somehow, though he couldn't remember how. He wracked his brains, but he couldn't bring it to mind. Deciding to give that train of thought a rest for a moment he mentally followed another line of enquiry.

Whoever had transmuted the boy and the other bodies that Mr. George had mentioned had obviously trying to create a human chimera. Did that mean the alchemist was connected to the mess FullMetal had been in at Lab Five?

_No, _Mustang thought. _Something about this is different. I _know _those arrays. Where have I seen them before? Ugh. What kind of depraved alchemist combines a child with an animal?_

Mustang froze as a thought trickled slowly through his brain like melting ice. _Animal. _

_Oh no. It can't be._

But even as he examined the arrays again, he knew he was right. How could he not have remembered those arrays? His very first assignment as a State Alchemist had been to apprehend the AWOL Animal Alchemist in East City.

Mustang sucked in a cold breath, suddenly feeling that much more cold as he remembered. Mr. George was wrong. The military had noticed people going missing, just not as quickly as the underground society had. Animal had experimented on whoever he could get all the way to East City. In the little outlying towns with their smaller populations he hadn't been able to stick to people that no one would notice had gone missing. A few prominent citizens had vanished and the military had taken notice.

But East was much bigger and there were so many people. The true extent of Kreiner's victims hadn't been obvious and they'd underestimated his threat level. The military had assigned the case to their greenest alchemist.

_And it was a disaster, _Mustang thought bitterly, remembering the wounds and the pain and waking up in a hospital with Grand looking at him contemptuously.

Animal had been the forerunner of Shou Tucker, an expert on creating chimeras, but with less finesse than Tucker. His chimeras had been mindless monsters that attacked everything in sight. But they had been useful as special attack dogs for borders, so he had been given a state qualification by Bradley.

Half a year later, Kreiner had been creating chimeras at a base on the Drachman border when it was attacked and overwhelmed. Mustang closed his eyes, remembering when he'd cornered the man and Kreiner had ranted about how he'd survived and realised that the most vicious animal was man. The Animal Alchemist had decided that the only way to create the perfect attack dog was to create a chimera using human ingredients.

_The younger the better, he said,_ Mustang remembered, looking sadly at the corpse of the cat boy. By the looks of things Kreiner had already branched out into using other animals besides dogs. Which meant that soon, Major Roy Mustang would arrive in East City looking for Kreiner.

_That's a problem I wouldn't mind fixing, _Mustang thought.

If Bradley had kept Tucker alive and imprisoned to work on chimera research, then he'd probably had the same idea in mind for Gerhardt Kreiner. The mission itself had been a failure. Roy had nearly been killed. He'd been so confident in his own alchemy he hadn't paid attention the way he should have. He'd ended up in hospital after being mauled by a chimera and being caught in his own explosion. Kreiner had also been caught in the explosion but his body had disappeared. Still, he was presumed dead.

_But perhaps he was picked up by the homunculi?_ Mustang speculated. _They must've had other scientists working in that lab besides Tucker. _

The entire incident had nearly killed his career before it started. A contemptuous Colonel Grand had assigned him desk duty for weeks on the justification that he was clearly unsuited to anything besides open warfare, where the enemy was clearly visible. Fieldwork had been out of the question for the forseeable future. The weeks of mind-numbing desk work had also been the cause of his everlasting hatred of paperwork.

Mustang considered the situation carefully. Facing Animal with a half-healed broken arm would be stupid. However, he couldn't just do nothing while he knew that people, _children,_ were being experimented on. Plus he had future knowledge. If he was remembering things right, then he knew exactly how to find the Animal alchemist. So maybe he could take the bastard by surprise and incinerate him and his damn chimeras before younger Roy even got there?

Mustang nodded to himself and turned to Cecil. "I need to see Mr. George."

The big man nodded politely and held the door open for Mustang. "If Sir would just follow me?"

"Lead on Cecil," Mustang replied, following him back down interminable corridors and passages. Eventually, Cecil stopped outside a familiar door, where Bentley the butler was waiting. Mustang didn't wait for the butler, but pushed open the door himself and strode in.

"I know who's doing this," he announced, "and I know how to find the bastard. Leave him to me."

Mr. George smiled. "Excellent."


	14. Searching

This, Edward Elric decided, was the most bizarre situation he'd ever been in, in his entire life. Death. Partially-alive life? Whatever. In any case it was pretty damn weird. Here he was, for all intents and purposes a ghost inhabiting someone else's body. And that person just happened to be Roy Mustang. Granted, from what the Gate-woman had said in their little post-mortem chit-chat, Ed had been expecting to end up stuck to Mustang. Just not _this_ Mustang.

This Roy Mustang was just a Major, newly promoted no less. He was younger than Ed and shockingly idealistic. Though talented, he did not yet possess the skill and control over his fire alchemy that Colonel Mustang had had. He stubbornly insisted that Ed call him 'Roy.' (Which just felt downright weird). Roy displayed a much bigger range of emotions than Colonel Mustang's defaults of 'Smug', 'Lazy', 'Manipulative' and 'Extremely Pissed Off.' Roy even appeared to have a mostly non-evil sense of humour. Roy was, (and Ed couldn't believe he was actually thinking this), a nice guy.

Colonel Bastard had once been a nice guy. Who knew?

Of course, over the years Ed had eventually figured out that the man was a good person, had a sense of honour and cared about his friends. But that didn't stop him from being the annoying, manipulative, smug bastard that he'd always been. Except he apparently hadn't always been that way. He'd once been a nice, if rather naíve kid who reminded Ed strongly of a kicked puppy. Who could create fireballs. But still. . . definitely puppy like. All friendliness and enthusiasm, desperate to make a good impression on his new masters. If a State Alchemist was a dog of the military, Ed thought, then Roy was the big friendly type that accidentally drowned people with drool.

Bloody bizarre.

###

Gerhardt Kreiner whistled to himself as he made another correction in his newest array's design. In the corner, his latest experiment whimpered in pain. It caught Kreiner's attention and he spared a scowl for it. The latest subject had been an another failure. The previous array he'd used had several improvements, which on reflection he should have researched a little more before testing on a live subject.

He'd meant to create a dog hybrid, but the array hadn't worked as expected. His two test subjects had melded into a handsome creature that looked much like a human save for the ears and sharp canine teeth. But the fact that his prize continued to cough up blood suggested that the creature's innards were still unstable And he'd had such high hopes too, especially after the near success with the cat-chimera. Kreiner made a mental note to do an autopsy on it's innards and get rid of the sad excuse for a test subject as soon as possible. It was stinking up the place, which he had to admit was quite an achievement when one resided in a sewer.

Kreiner sighed in disappointment. His latest experiments just didn't have the results that the ones he'd run on the way to East City had promised. He was doing great work for his country! Why was all his effort lately in vain? He knew he was on the right track. His melding technique was better every time. But the subjects never lived for more than a few hours. Why was that so? Even if their insides weren't absolutely perfect, they should at least have been able to live for a few days. Before coming to East he'd had to put down his experiments with a pistol.

As he mulled this over a thought occured to Kreiner. Before coming to East city he'd had to acquire subjects from the smaller towns and villages. In East it was easier to snatch vagrants and drug addicts off the street. There were so many people here that no one ever noticed or cared if some public nuisances had vanished. That hadn't been the case in the smaller villages on the way here. He'd had to acquire subjects fast and had risked taking better off people. It was why he'd had to relocate fast.

Now he realised that was a factor he should have considered. The subjects before had been fit and healthy. Obviously there would be a difference in a transmutation involving a strong healthy young man and one involving a street rat. Kreiner cursed his carelessness. If he wanted to achieve better results with the trash around here, he would have to get them healthy first. It was slower and more time consuming than just snatching a healthy boy, but less inclined to draw unwanted attention. Nothing could be allowed to interrupt his great work.

Another groan and hacking cough from the corner attracted the Animal Alchemist's attention. He sighed and looked at the pathetic life-form curled against the wall. "Really," he said exasperatedly, drawing a knife, "it's about time you ceased interrupting my thoughts."

###

It was with great relief that Roy got off the train in East City Station. Over-night train rides, the young Major decided, were now back at the top of his list as one of the most painful way to travel. He felt stiff and achey and his ribs and spine, which had been contorted against the hard wooden backrest all night, were queuing up to complain about this blantantly neglectful treatment. Roy walked down the steps of the station's front entrance groaning softly and hoping the pain would dissipate soon.

"Right," he muttered to himself, as he stepped down on to the street and checked his watch. "Half-past one, due to report to East HQ's commanding officer at two. Way too sore to walk and still make it on time. So, cab."

_"Lazy bastard," _Edward interjected, appearing beside him and grinning cheekily.

Roy scowled at the golden-lit spirit who had only deigned to make an appearance after spending the whole train ride silent. "Oh can it Mister Incorporeal," he said as quietly as possible. "My legs are killing me. We can't all be as lucky as you."

_"Right," _Ed drawled, _"the _dead_ guy is lucky. That's some skewed perception you've got there."_

"You, you, I meant-" Roy gave up. "Hey! Over here!" he yelled, waving an arm to attract the nearest cab driver's attention.

The drive to East Headquarters lasted all of ten minutes and Edward spent the entire time complaining that the cab driver was overcharging them by a mile, but Roy couldn't bring himself to care. It was worth it to sit on a seat with an actual cushion.

Twenty minutes later he found himself standing painfully to attention in front of Major General Grumman as the old man took his time reading the file on the Animal Alchemist that Roy had brought with him. Halfway through, the old man looked up and cocked his head at Roy, half laughed as if only just remembering he was there and then went back to his paperwork. The Flame Alchemist mentally counted backwards from a hundred and reminded himself that frying a General was not allowed, even if he was a senile old buzzard who couldn't remember to say 'at ease'.

As he leaned insubstantially on a window ledge nearby, Ed was abruptly reminded of all the times he'd given a report while half-sprawled across the (rather comfortable) couch in Colonel Mustang's office and suddenly experienced a bout of extreme gratitude towards his former commanding officer. He drifted back towards his host and gave Roy a sympathetic pat on the shoulder which the dark-haired man, lost in thought, completely failed to notice.

_One day _I'm _going to be a Major General. There will be couches in every office and I will never forget to say 'at ease' to my hardworking and loyal subordinates. Oh bloody hell, my back is killing me. . . isn't the old man finished reading yet? Slow old buzzard. Owww. . . secretaries, there will be secretaries trained in the art of back massage. In miniskirts. TINY MINISKIRTS! Oh shit, that really hurts._

"Oh. Sorry young man, I quite forgot. At ease Major. Do take a seat." The General gestured to a chair opposite his desk.

_Ohhh that's better. This chair isn't that comfortable though. When I'm a General, I'm gonna have the comfiest chair ever, with extra cushions. Yeah. . ._

As the General regarded him over his half-moon spectacles, Roy shook himself out of his dreams of extra padding and carefully showed the man an expression of the utmost respect. Grumman's eyes narrowed and Roy had the unsettling feeling that the General was looking right through him. Maybe he hadn't given the old man enough credit. After all, one did not become a Major General by being stupid.

"So," the General began, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at Roy, "I send a report that a dangerous rogue State Alchemist is probably in East City, and Central Command sends me their newest alchemist? Either Colonel Grand has seriously underestimated the threat that Animal poses, or you are very, very good at your job. I hope the latter is correct."

"Absolutely sir," Roy assured the General smoothly, pointedly ignoring Edward's disgusted mutter of how he was _'an egoistic ass kisser.'_

The General grunted noncommitally. "You'd better be telling the truth Major. If you're not, you'll most likely end up dead, which would cause more paperwork for me. Do _not_ create more paperwork." Grumman's eyes suddenly hardened like rocks. "Is that clear Major Mustang?"

Roy swallowed. "Yes sir, General Grumman sir," he replied, snapping off a salute out of nervousness.

"Very good. I suggest you start your investigation by liaising with the civil police. They're the ones who found the firts few bodies, although they're not aware that an alchemist is involved."

"Sir?"

Grumman's mouth thinned. "The civil police have a tendency to let things slip that we would rather keep quiet," he explained. "If it got out that there was a mad alchemist killing people in East, the public would panic. We've kept a lid on this thing so far, but had no success finding Kreiner. However we've not had a State Alchemist on hand either, what with the Fuhrer gathering them all in Central for whatever reason, which was why I requested qualified assistance. 'Set a thief. . .' as the saying goes. Hopefully you'll have better luck."

"I'll do my best sir," Roy promised. The look on Grumman's face suggested that though he hadn't seen Roy's best, he wasn't expecting much. He nodded to the Major.

"Very good then. Private Havoc should be waiting outside. He'll drive you to ECPD's headquarters and be your guide to East City. . . though from your accent it seems probable that you already know your way around the city. Am I right?"

"Ah, yes sir," Roy admitted. "I grew up just outside East."

Grumman nodded again, his expression thoughtful. "Mmm. Thought so. You are dismissed Major."

###

Private Havoc turned out to be a young man about the same age as Roy, with strawberry-blond hair and pale blue eyes. He saluted Roy nervously, looking almost as if he expected him to explode at any moment. Despite his nervous behaviour however, the young man proved to be an excellent driver and navigator and they soon arrived at the headquarters of the civil police where the Flame Alchemist and his temporary aide were immediately escorted into the Captain's office.

The current Captain, a man by the name of Kyle Reynard, was a tall, lean man in his forties with a rather impressive looking moustache carpeting his upper lip. He was also embarrassingly obsequious towards the military personnel who had suddenly arrived in his office. Or at least he was towards Roy. Havoc, he more or less ignored, a fact which seemed to suit the nervous blond perfectly. He situated himself beside the door and stood at ease, a blank look on his face.

"Delighted to meet you, Major Mustang," Reynard said in a fawning tone that Roy felt really did not belong coming from a man two decades his senior. "Tell me, what can I do to assist you?"

"I'm here investigating some recent murders," Roy explained, handing over a carefully edited dossier of information that the military had collected on the murders most likely to be the work of the Animal Alchemist. "The perpetrator is. . . of interest to the military."

Reynard flicked through the pages of the file and then handed it back, shaking his head. "Those deaths are merely the results of a turf war," he said dismissively. "The gangs have been restless of late. Really Major, this is hardly worth the attention of a State Alchemist."

"The military thinks otherwise," Roy told him flatly. "We have access to. . . other sources of information. These deaths_ are_ of interest to the State. Where was the first body found?"

Reynard opened the door and stuck his head out. "Collins!" he yelled. "Get me all the files we have on the latest turf murders!" Closing the door again, he went over to his desk and pulled out a map of the city. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door which Havoc duly opened to reveal three boxes of files and a pair of legs. Havoc reached out and took the top box of files, revealing a fair-haired man in his early-thirties.

Roy gulped inwardly. That was a _lot_ of files to go through. On the outside though, his expression remained cool and he gestured to Havoc to set the box on the Captain's table. A twitch of Reynard's mouth told him that the police captain was probably irritated by the sudden invasion of his office space, but the man said nothing, merely nodding to the fair-haired man to indicate he should follow Havoc's lead and set down the boxes.

Once all the boxes had been set down, Captain Reynard introduced the soldiers to Lieutenant Trevor Collins and then turned to address Roy. "This is everything we have that could be of interest to you. Collins here is officially the investigating officer, so he'll have the answers to any questions you might have. Feel free to use this office. Now, there are other matters that need my attention, if you'll excuse me sir?"

Roy nodded and then Reynard all but fled from the office. Lieutenant Collins scowled in his retreating commanding officer's direction.

_"Looks like Reynard's not that popular with the men," _Ed observed silently. _"And not all that bright if he hasn't spotted that there's something really wrong with these murders. I'll bet you a hundred cenz Collins has though. He's a sharp guy. When the Colonel was stationed in East, Collins was the captain. I had to work with him on a case once. _Very _sharp guy. Trust me, listen to him and get him on your side. It'll make this whole mission way easier." _He paused and then muttered "_can't believe Havoc's here. That's just weird. Wonder if he smokes yet?"_

As it was beginning to always do, Ed's brief mention of his older self fascinated Roy. From the way Edward spoke about him, he clearly respected the older Roy, but he just as clearly disliked him intensely. Roy filed away the new tidbit of information for consideration later and returned to the matter at hand. From the look of Collins and the impression he'd got from Reynard, Roy figured Ed was right. This had been Collins' investigation and working with him was bound to get a better result instead of just bulling in and taking over like Military Investigators usually did.

Roy pulled up the map that Reynard had taken from his desk drawer. "Lieutenant," he asked. "I'd like to know where all the bodies were found in relation to each other. Can you mark them on the map for me?"

"Easily done sir," the Lieutenant replied coolly, pulling out a pencil and moving to get a better look at the map. Within seconds there were eleven different dots across the map. Roy was impressed. Collins had clearly memorized the locations. He thanked the man, but Collins only nodded, a steely look in his eyes.

_"Careful," _Ed warned as he leaned in to get a look at the map. _"This was his investigation remember? Be co-operative." _

Taking that on board, Roy looked back at the steel-eyed Collins and said politely, "is there anything _you_ wish to know Lieutenant?"

Collins glared right back, clearly not worried about upsetting a State Alchemist. "Yes sir, there is. When are you gonna admit that there's some crazy alchemist behind these murders?"

Roy smiled back at the man. "And what makes you think that, Lieutenant?"

"I saw the bodies," Collins snapped. "Most people would just think they were malformed at birth or something, hell people'll believe anything if it sounds reasonable enough. Thing is, I started out in the gutter, so I know some of those dead bodies personally and there ain't no reason for Joey Sixfingers to start growin' fur, or for Denny the Bird's teeth to sharpen like a dog. Alchemy's the only thing that coulda done it. And suddenly a State Alchemist shows up and tells the captain that the state has a 'significant pause interest' in the perpetrator." Collins paused and gave Roy a hard look. "I may be just a dumb cop, but even I can connect the dots."

Roy allowed his smile to become a grin. "Lieutenant, you 'connected the dots' and realised an alchemist was to blame. Your commanding officer, on the other hand, is content to write this off as a turf war between gangs. I cannot count on him to notice anything of relevance. It is precisely because you are _not _'just a dumb cop' that your co-operation will be invaluable."

Collins appeared to be somewhat mollified by this declaration and the steel in his eyes softened slightly. He held out his hand to Roy. "This is a joint effort then?"

Roy shook the offered hand. "You have my word. I want to catch this maniac for the same reasons you do. He cannot be allowed to continue what he is doing."

Collins released Roy's hand and sighed. "Well, we'd better start comparing notes then. Maybe you military boys have come across something I missed. 'Cause to be honest, I'd be glad of a little help. I must'a walked and talked all over this city and I've looked at that map a thousand times an' I still can't figure out where the little weasel's hidin'.

"Location, I can't do," Roy told him,"but I can give you a possible identification. From what military intelligence picked up, our murderous alchemist is likely to be one Gerhardt Kreiner, the Animal Alchemist. He's state certified and he went AWOL a year ago after surviving a Drachman raid on the northern border."

Collins gave a low whistle. "Well. No wonder the military sent a State Alchemist to clean things up. Unfortunately, that still doesn't help us find him though."

The brief silence following Collins' statement was broken by Private Havoc's polite cough. "Um. . . excuse me sirs?"

Roy looked up at him sharply. "You have something to contribute Private Havoc?"

The blond swallowed nervously, and looked as though he wished he hadn't spoken, but he stepped forward nonetheless and traced a blue line on the map with his finger. "Uhm, can I ask what this stands for, boss, uh, I mean sir. It's near all the dump sites."

Roy waved a hand vaguely. "Boss is fine." He looked to Collins, whose expression was thunderstruck. "Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Oh well done Private!" Collins exclaimed, slapping Havoc on the back. "It's the sewer line," Collins explained to Roy, slapping his forehead in recrimination. "I can't believe I missed that! I was so busy looking at the overground layout of the city I forgot about the underground one. All the dump sites are right next to the sewer line. That's where your crazy alchemist must be hiding."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To save confusion, Mustang is older Roy, while young Roy is just Roy.


	15. Defiance

As his boots sank yet again into the ankle deep sludge, Roy Mustang heroically resisted the urge to wince and shudder in disgust. _Leave it to me, I said,_ Mustang thought, groaning internally. _I know how to find the bastard, I said. No help needed, just give me current and old maps of the sewers I said_. He paused, took a map out of his pocket and held up the lamp in his other hand, scanning the outlines of the tunnels left to search. There was rather a lot. Mustang gave in and groaned out loud._ Roy, you are a complete moron!_

Behind him, Sakura snickered. "Having trouble, Sparky?" she asked sweetly. "Not sure you'll be able to finish the job?"

Mustang turned his head and glared at the smirking alkahestrist who had insisted on coming along to keep an eye on him. "Of course not," he said loftily. "I was merely despairing at the state of my boots. I have a feeling it's going to take hours to get rid of the smell."

"Days," Sakura corrected him, her smirk dissolving into a scowl of distaste as she glanced at her own feet. "Since I am occasionally obliged to use these tunnels in the execution of my duties, I had been experimenting with a way to clean certain stains with alchemy," she mused aloud, "but so far, no luck."

"Shame," Mustang murmured distractedly, as one of his feet came free of the sludge with a rather nauseating sucking sound. "What's the problem?" he asked idly as he focused on the older map of the sewers.

Sakura's lips twisted in annoyance. "I had thought that perhaps I could stop the transmutation at the deconstructing stage, and dissolve the stains, thereby leaving the boots intact, but it is proving difficult to refine the transmutation." She sighed. "And I was so sure it would be much easier than mending flesh and bone. Sadly that is not the case."

"The stains don't dissolve?"

"Oh they do," the scarred woman assured him wryly. "But unfortunately, so do my boots."

"Ah."

"By the way," Sakura enquired as she held up her own lamp to get a better view of the tunnel, "speaking of mending things, how is your arm feeling?"

"Fine," Mustang said for what felt like the thousandth time, trying not to growl. "I haven't felt so much as a twitch since you treated it again yesterday. It's fine."

He had been eager to get moving when he'd announced his ability to find Kreiner two days ago, but Mr. George had flat out refused to let him go anywhere until Sakura agreed that his arm was completely healed. The old man's reasoning being that if Mustang got himself killed then they'd be back to square one. So the alchemist had been forced to spend two days in the old man's mansion until Sakura had declared his arm healed enough to begin searching for the Animal Alchemist.

Though Mustang of all people understood the necessity for careful planning, he had still been impatient to start searching. Animal had made himself a couple of different bases in various, now derelict, tunnels that had been used by sewer maintenance crews and then been abandoned when the system was reorganised ten years ago. The result was that in the sewers under East City, there were out-of-sight locations that any crazies who came along could take their pick of.

And the Animal Alchemist had, Mustang remembered. He'd been a smart son-of-a-bitch and so he'd kept moving from maintenance area to maintenance area to lessen the chances of discovery and capture. It had been necessary to search all of them to find him last time and since there was no telling exactly which area he was currently occupying, it would be necessary to search all the tunnels this time as well.

It did not help that Mustang's memory of the event was a little cloudy due to the head wound he'd received at the time when he'd been caught in his own blast. Because of this, Mustang had spent the last two days pouring over and memorizing sewer maps in Mr. George's admittedly impressive library.

Unfortunately, waiting two days meant that he ran a slightly bigger risk of running into the younger Roy who would also be searching the tunnels for Kreiner. However, Mustang was pretty sure he could have the situation taken care of before that became a real possibility. Last time, Mustang had shot himself in the foot when he'd accidentally insulted the officer who had previously been in charge of the investigation.

Lieutenant Collins had then taken a rather severe dislike to the young Flame Alchemist and the man had gone out of his way to get rid of the pompous military jerk who had walked in and appropriated his investigation. While it was a rather embarrasing memory, on the plus side it meant that Mustang had quite a bit of time to get to Kreiner while Collins wasted his younger self's time with malice aforethought.

Mustang sighed inwardly as he continued on through the sludge, reluctantly depending on Sakura to watch his back.

_Riza, _he thought wistfully,_ what I wouldn't give to have you and your gun here with me._

###

Gerhardt Kreiner hissed in pain as he tended to his injured hand and scowled at his latest test subject. The skinny, bedraggled boy glared back, his teeth bared in a silent snarl, still stained with Kreiner's blood.

"You know boy," Kreiner said dissaprovingly, "it is considered impolite to bite the hand that feeds you. And now that food I was carrying has been dropped on the dirty floor. It won't be fit for eating now. That's a terrible waste. There are little children starving in Creta right now who'd have eaten it up in a second. But you bite my hand instead. I hope you feel ashamed of yourself."

The boy made no reply, choosing instead to pull at the thick, heavy chain around his ankle. However, his struggles had no real effect and the restraint stay firmly bolted around his leg and to the wall. Despite the obvious pointlessness of his activity the boy continued to tug on the chain, hissing and snarling silently at his captor as he did so.

Kreiner looked down at the boy, grinning smugly at his futile efforts to get free. "Might as well get used to it boy," he advised. "You're going to be here for a while."

The boy ignored him, continuing to pull at his chain. Kreiner smirked and reached out, grabbing the boy by the jaw and pulling him to his feet. Two pale green eyes glared out at the alchemist from beneath a curtain of filthy brown hair, but the child stayed silent.

"You want this chain off, right?" Kreiner asked the boy, his voice turning deceptively gentle. The boy gave no answer, continuing to glare at the man. "Then eat the food I give you," Kreiner said. "As soon as you're healthy enough to work, I'll take it off. It's only to keep you running off before then. Do we have a deal?"

A fat gobbet of spit hit the Animal Alchemist square in the eye.

"Good aim," Kreiner noted in a tight voice as he let go of the boy's chin and let him drop back to the floor. "That's. . . good. It will serve you well later, once you've been trained to do your job. Then he left, closing the door to the small room behind him, leaving his test subject alone in the dark.

The second the man closed the door, the boy, Gerard by name, began to pull on his chain again. True, it was bolted strongly to the wall, but he was not giving up. Whatever this jerk wanted him for, it couldn't be good. He paused a moment and sniffed at the food he had knocked onto the floor, wrinkling his nose. It smelled good, Gerard admitted privately, but it was probably poisoned or drugged. He might be a lot of things, but he wasn't an idiot. Eating that food was just asking for trouble.

A slight movement in his chain caught the boy's attention, bringing him out of his troubled thoughts. He froze for an instant, unsure whether or not his mind was playing tricks on him. Had the chain really moved? Gerard tugged experimentally. Sure enough, the chain moved slightly.

No, Gerard realised after a moment's thought, as he felt around the ring of the chain in the darkness to see where it had come loose, not the _chain_, the block of stone that the chain was connected to.

_If I could pull it the whole way out,_ he thought excitedly, _then I could escape through the hole. . . with a chain and a large stone block stuck to my ankle. Damn it._

Gerard slumped back against the floor, feeling utterly dejected. He was going to be stuck here, prisoner of a crazy bastard forever, he knew it. His body would probably end up floating face down in the river! He would never see his mother or his gang again. He would. . .

The smell of the food he had knocked onto the floor caught his attention again and the green-eyed boy stopped his litany of sorrow as a thought struck him. The man had seemed keen for him to be healthy. So maybe, the food wasn't poisoned. He could eat it to get his strength up. Play the good little slave until the man released him from his chain and then strike when the bastard was least expecting it.

Gerard's hand brushed against the spoon that the man had not bothered to pick up when it had been dropped and another thought struck him. It would be easier to fight if he had a weapon. The boy gripped the head of the spoon in his hand and began diligently sharpening the other end against the wall. In the darkness, he grinned.

###

Far above the sewers of East City where his best operative and the mysterious soldier were searching for the madman who was killing his people, Berthold George sat in his study and listened as his butler relayed a message from an informant who worked in the railyway station.

"So," he said thoughtfully once Bentley had finished reading the message, "our young man arrived on the train from this. . . Resembool, travelling in the cheapest car." Mr. George nodded to himself. "Well, the last part made sense. According to Stig, he had less the two-hundred cenz in his pocket when he arrived in Ivan's. You know, it's possible he went there because he couldn't afford to stay anywhere else."

"Indeed sir," Bentley replied, stiffly formal and dressed immaculately as always.

"Resembool. . ." Berthold mused. "I know the name for some reason, but I can't recall anything about the place."

"It is a small, spread out farming community about a day's train ride from East City sir," Bentley supplied "I understand refugees from Ishbal pass through it from time to time whenever the civil unrest flares up again. It is also noted for the rather well known family of automail mechanics, the Rockbells. Apparently they've been in business for about three generations now. And of course there is the celebrated Resembool Sheep Festival which is customarily held every year in the early spring."

"Sheep. . . Festival?" Mr. George asked sceptically.

"Yes sir," Bentley replied. "Apparently it's quite a popular event." He paused briefly, his forehead wrinkling in thought. "If I recall correctly sir, there was a rumour that the noted alchemist Hohenheim of Light-"

"-was living there for a while," Mr. George finished, slapping his forehead in exasperation. "I _knew_ the place had come to my attention before."

"Indeed sir."

"Hohenheim of Light, "the old man murmured to himself, staring at the fire burning in the hearth. Then he looked up. "Do we know where he is at the moment Bentley?"

"I regret to inform sir, that we have not had knowledge of Master Hohenheim's whereabouts for some time. He is unfortunately extremely adept at not being seen unless he wishes it sir."

"Damn right," Mr. George muttered. "Old Yellow-Eyes always was a cunning bastard. He- Resembool!" the old crime-lord repeated suddenly as a disturbing memory came back to him, momentarily startling his normally unflappable butler.

"Sir?" Bentley enquired.

"Hohenheim wasn't just _living_ there," Berthold elaborated. "When he left the place two years ago, he came up to East specifically to order me to stay out. If just one of my men showed up there, he said, he'd tear them apart and then move on to the rest, ending with me."

"That would suggest that there was something in Resembool that Master Hohenheim wished to protect sir," Bentley replied.

"Correct," the little man said thoughtfully. "I think we should make an effort to find out what. . . in ten years or so. It should be safe enough if Yellow-Eyes hasn't returned there by then."

"Indeed sir."

Berthold rose from his chair and drew the poker from it's holding place. He thrust it into the fire, sending sparks flying. "Now that's sorted, back to the issue of young Sparky. We know he came to East from Resembool, but with that particular place off-limits to us at the moment it will be difficult to find out where he was before that. He can't possibly be a native of the place, not with his East City accent and that rather amazing resemblance to young Mustang."

"Speaking of the lad in question sir, I have recieved a reply to the telegram that you sent to Madame," Bentley announced.

"Ah yes, how is she getting on at her new premises in Central?" Berthold asked curiously.

"Quite satisfactorily sir. Apparently it is a great improvement from the one she previously owned here sir. And she is also near her son, much to her delight and to young Mr. Roy's apparent dismay."

The old crime-lord nodded in amusement. "I can understand that," he chuckled. "Madame Christmas can be rather overbearing, can't she?"

_"Indeed_ sir," Bentley replied, a touch of distress in his tone as he recalled his first meeting with the lady.

"Oh come now, Bentley," his master said. "It wasn't that bad was it?"

"No sir," the butler replied, his tone clearly stating '_yes it bloody well was. . . sir'._"In any case sir, Madame has no idea who the Corporal could be, or why he resembles her foster son so greatly."

Mr. George smiled at the title. It went against Bentley's priciples to refer to anyone by nickname. When one like the nameless soldier appeared, he solved his dilemma by addressing them only by rank or social class. "Indeed," he mused. "Is she sure?"

"Yes sir," Bentley replied. "His birth mother had only one son, the young man himself and, of his half-siblings, he is the second oldest son, the oldest being twenty-two.

"While our Sparky is clearly about thirty," Berthold murmured.

"Mmm, he is remarkably youthful looking sir," Bentley disagreed politely. "I would place him at actually thirty four or five, but certainly not more than that."

"So in essence Bentley," Mr. George said dryly, "we don't know his real name, we don't know his real rank, and we have no way of beginning to find out where he came from without going to Resembool and thereby enraging Hohenheim of Light, which will no doubt lead to our quick and painful deaths."

"Exactly sir."

"We need to find _some_ information on him Bentley," Mr George declared. "I dislike it when my pawns are hard to control."

"Just as you say sir."


	16. Thought

_East City sewers._

The sewer tunnel was dark and dank, echoing with the disquieting sound of liquid shifting as it settled. As they made their way slowly along the slime-covered walkway, the youngest State Alchemist and the Police Lieutenant accompanying him could vaguely hear the everyday sounds of the busy city above them. Sneaking silently was impossible in the conditions of the sewer, so, with ignition cloth gloves and pistol at the ready, the two men continued onwards, their slopping footsteps echoing along the cramped tunnel.

_"Well, this is fun,"_ snarked the ghostlike apparition of a blond young man, as he glanced around his host's current less-than-stellar surroundings. The blond looked upwards just in time for some unidentifiable type of slime to drip from the roof of the tunnel and pass straight through him. As his dark-haired host caught sight of the spirit's disgusted expression, the young man bit back a snigger.

Edward scowled at the other alchemist. "_Why Mustang," _he said, with sugar coated sarcasm,_ "you take me to the **nicest **places!"_

"Oh shut up," Roy muttered quietly as his boots sank further into the putrid smelling slime and mud that coated the sewer walkway. He grimaced as his jacket brushed against the wall of the tunnel and picked up a coating of slime. "At least you aren't getting crap all over yourself. And my name is _Roy_, remember?"

"Sorry?" Collins said, coming up behind the Flame Alchemist. "You say something Major?" the fair-haired police officer asked.

"Oh, uh, sorry, just thinking aloud," Roy said quickly, resisting the urge to glare at the now snickering see-through blond. _Keep your mind on your work Roy,_ he admonished himself. _You're searching for a highly dangerous alchemist, remember?_

To the young Major's surprise, the blond man straightened up from his slouch, a serious look appearing on his face. _"Good point,"_ he said._ "And with the way this place is, you're gonna have a hard time catching him by surprise. Plus he's a chimera specialist. I don't know what it is about them, but once two animals are transmuted together, you could toss up a coin and have them smell which side it came down on. Chances are, they're going to smell you coming and go crazy. Be ready for that."_

Roy blinked in surprise. The advice was good, but. . . had Edward just replied to his. . . thought?

_Edward? Hello? _He thought experimentally, looking straight at his insubstantial tenant.

_"Hello!" _Edward replied, waving at him enthusiastically. "_Y'know _Roy, _you can just call me Ed."_

_You _can _hear my thoughts! _Roy declared mentally, looking accusingly at the grinning FullMetal Alchemist.

_"Well, yeah," _Ed replied, as if that should be obvious. Seeing the panic beginning to form on Roy's face he hastily added: _"not all of the time. Only if you want me to, or if there's a particularly strong emotion behind it."_

_You could have told me that instead of letting me worry about being caught talking to my invisible friend, _Roy thought, glaring savagely at the spectral form of Ed. _Why didn't you tell me?_

Ed's grin turned somewhat sheepishly_. "Well, it was kinda funny. . ." _he said, shrugging helplessly at the furious glare the Flame Alchemist was directing towards him. _"I was waiting for you to figure it out. Didn't think it would take you _this_ long. You're supposed to be smart."_

_That's it, _Roy snapped, irritated by the insult to his intelligence._ I'm not talking to you anymore. _He resolutely turned his face away from the spectral image of Ed and trudged determinedly onwards, raising his lantern to get a better view of the tunnel.

_"Aww," _Ed drawled in mock-disappointment, his golden eyes shining with amusement. "_I'm deeply hurt. You have cut me to the bone, Roy. How will I ever go on?" _

_Not. Talking. To. You. _Roy repeated as he continued down the sewer walkway with Lieutenant Collins following along behind him.

_"You just did," _Ed pointed out.

_You are a very annoying jerk and I hate you, _Roy told him, overcome by a brief urge to be childish. To his intense annoyance, the dead man burst into laughter.

_"Man," _Ed exclaimed once he'd finished laughing. "_Talk about role reversal." _He paused and took a breath, or at least, gave the appearance of doing so, then gave up on keeping a straight face and dissolved into laughter again. _"Roy Mustang called _me _an annoying jerk," _he gasped once he was able to speak again. _"Oh that's priceless! I wish Hughes were here to take a photograph. I should document this moment for posterity."_

"Well, no wonder Future-Me is a such bastard, if he had to put up with _this _all the time," Roy muttered under his breath. "At least I don't have to feel bad about that anymore. Clearly it's all your fault, you pest."

Ed ignored him, continuing to laugh in a most annoying way. Roy gave up on communicating with the snickering spirit and endeavoured to burn a hole in the blond man's translucent form by force of glare alone.

Behind them, Lieutenant Trevor Collins wondered what Major Mustang had against brickwork. The way the Major was glaring at a particular piece of the wall made Collins wonder if it had somehow personally offended the alchemist.

###

As the door opened and dim light began to spill into the room that functioned as his prison cell, Gerard quickly hid the makeshift blade he'd been constructing under some debris in the corner. A second later, the man who'd imprisoned him entered, a tray of food in his hands. From behind him, there came the sounds of barking and snarling, but they sounded wrong to Gerard somehow, like no animal he'd ever heard.

The man, whom Gerard, for lack of a name, had decided to call Creepy Guy, set down the tray of food in front of him and smiled pleasantly. Gerard inspected the contents of the tray warily. A bowl containing a liquid that was probably soup, some slices of brown bread, a hunk of cheese and a glass of water.

Aware of Creepy Guy watching him, Gerard leaned forward carefully and sniffed at the bowl of soup. It smelled of vegetables. Technically not poison, although Gerard had spent a lot of time arguing otherwise at the dinner table. His mother had some sort of odd fascination with vegetables and seemed to think that Gerard should eat them with every meal. Clearly Creepy Guy shared this delusion, if the previous food he'd provided was anything to go by.

"Are you going to eat up like a good boy?" Creepy Guy enquired with a friendly smile. "Or do I have to feed you myself?"

Gerard scowled at the man on principle and reached for the bowl of soup, doing his best to ignore the smile of approval and the man's annoying tone of voice. Creepy Guy obviously wasn't used to dealing with kids. The last time anyone had talked to Gerard with that tone, he'd been six years old and on his first day at school. He hadn't liked it then, and at age thirteen, he didn't like it now.

On the other hand, Gerard thought, he'd just learned something important. If Creepy Guy thought it was okay to talk to a teenager like that, then he was probably one of those dumbasses who always thought that kids were a lot stupider than they really were. That was good, Gerard thought, he could use that.

When Gerard looked up from his soup, Creepy Guy had straightened up and was moving back towards the door. Gerard frowned. If Creepy Guy closed the door behind him, then Gerard would be eating in the dark. Not that he couldn't do it of course, but would be a bit of a pain and make him more likely to knock things on the floor. Didn't Creepy Guy _want _him to eat more?

Catching the boy's curious gaze, the man smiled and said "Don't worry, I'm just going to get you some light. If you eat all of your dinner, then I'll let you keep it when I leave. Doesn't that sound good?"

Gerard refused to answer the man, shoving some bread in his mouth instead. This earned him an approving pat on the head, before the man walked out, leaving the door half open behind him. Not that it made much of a difference to Gerard. With the heavy chain around his ankle, he was going nowhere fast, even with the door open.

By the time his jailer came back, carrying a rather moth-eaten old blanket and an old-fashioned oil lamp, Gerard had finished all the food. This seemed to make Creepy Guy happy and he patted Gerard's head again. The green-eyed boy glared viciously. He really didn't like the way the man touched him. It reminded him of the way Mrs. Freyder next door patted her dog when it fetched a stick.

Creepy Guy smiled indulgently and set down the oil lamp and blanket. Taking a piece of chalk from his pocket, he sketched a strange design on the wall. Then he touched his hands to it.

Gerard jumped back as blue lightning flashed and lit up the room. Where the odd design had been, there was now a stone hook curving out of the wall. Gerard swallowed nervously, his stomach dropping. _Creepy's an alchemist, _he thought._ Then I'm in a lot more trouble than I guessed. Debra's always saying that alchemists can do things that make people turn inside out. Creepy Guy's probably planning to do some sort of experiment on me! That's why he's giving me food. I don't wanna be inside out! _

As Gerard curled up in fear and covered his head with his hands, Creepy Guy picked up the oil lamp, hung it from the hook and then lit it, bathing the small room in a soft glow. Then he took the blanket and arranged it around Gerard's shoulders. "Wouldn't want you to catch cold," he said, smiling. "Get some rest. You'll need it."

Gerard nodded fearfully, feeling as if he was going to be sick, and the alchemist smiled again. "Good boy," he said, patting Gerard's head once more. Then he picked up the food tray and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

As soon as the sound of footsteps faded away, Gerard pulled his spoon out from its hiding place. The metal gleamed, shining as the lamplight reflected off of it. Gerard inspected it for a moment and then began working feverishly to finish sharpening the end. He did not intend to end up in Creepy Guy's weird alchemy experiments. When the bastard came back, he would be in for a surprise.

Outside the door, the sounds of barking and snarling animals grew briefly louder before fading away again. Gerard paused in his work and listened for a moment, but there was no more sound. Satisfied that he was alone, the boy went back to sharpening his spoon.

###

As he shut yet another door leading to a room containing the remains of a badly transmuted human chimera, Mustang growled with frustration. As they went through the maintenance areas one by one, he and Sakura had started to find some of the Animal Alchemist's previous hideouts. Most contained at least one chimera corpse, human and animal-only blend alike, but Kreiner's guard dogs had still occupied one. They were vicious snarling things that looked to be a cross between dog and bear. Mustang suspected that Kreiner had smuggled them all the way from the base on the Drachman border where he'd had his breakdown.

Luckily for the two searchers, the noise the chimeras had been making had forewarned them to the danger. Sakura had carefully opened the door outwards and Mustang had taken one quick look inside to check for Kreiner or a prisoner before snapping his gloved hand and filling the room with fire, roasting the chimeras instantly.

However, the display of Mustang's alchemic specialty had caught Sakura's eye. "So," she had said, "not only do you _look_ just like that kid the boss keeps an eye on, you also practice the same kind of alchemy. You're more interesting than I thought Sparky." And then she had laughed.

Mustang hadn't bothered to claim coincidence. As another alchemist, Sakura would see through the lie immediately. Masters of fire alchemy were extremely rare. Any reasonably well-informed alchemist would know that the only other expert besides the newly named Flame Alchemist was his teacher old man Hawkeye, and he had died just before Roy had taken the State Examinations. There was no way for Mustang to explain away where he had learned his alchemy, so he had just ignored the question in Sakura's words and continued on.

Now, as they rounded another corner and came up to another heavy door marked 'maintenance' Mustang's patience was beginning to fray. Kreiner's newest lair was somewhere close by; the presence of the guard chimeras confirmed that. _He could be experimenting on some frightened child right now, _Mustang thought with a growl, _and we're stuck here slopping around in this sludge!_

Mustang started as he felt a light touch on his shoulder, reflexively bringing his fingers together to snap, but it was only Sakura. "Calm down," she told him firmly. "I know this is frustrating, but getting angry will not help. If we are to find and defeat this, this monster, then we must keep cool heads for the coming battle." She paused, giving him a considering look. "Don't they teach that to soldiers?"

"Yes," Mustang admitted through slowly unclenching teeth. "Thank you for reminding me," he told her, trying to sound calm. Sakura was right. There was nothing to be gained by indulging in righteous anger at the moment. He needed to focus instead of getting caught up in his anger at the rogue alchemist.

_God help me,_ Mustang thought with an internal sigh,_ I'm behaving just like Ed used to._ The realisation brought him up short and he shook his head to clear it, spraying around droplets of sewer sludge that had somehow collected in it without his noticing. The dark-eyed man made an 'ick' face upon this discovery and behind him, Sakura snickered about his vanity until he pointed out that her hair wasn't much better and she grimaced in disgust.

Feeling vindicated, Mustang stepped forward decisively, his focus restored. The next chimera that attacked suddenly from nowhere was roasted within a split-second.

###

_Eastern Desert._

Far out into the desert, in the ruins of an ancient city, a cloaked figure walked among ruined pillars and archways and the cracked paved streets, unaware that the ruined city's sole occupant was following him. Reaching the centre of the city, the cloaked man entered what must once have been a magnificent domed building. Now half the dome was gone, collapsed centuries ago, the remains of it scattered around the floor of the circular building.

The cloaked man made his way over the scattered rubble and then stopped in front of the wall farthest from the entrance. He stood in front of the wall and ran a hand over the large circular mosaic that covered most of this portion of the curving wall. As he did so, part of the mosaic flaked off in his hand and fell to the floor. "Whoops," the stranger murmured as he stepped back guiltily.

Alya wasn't sure what the yellow-haired stranger was doing walking around her home, so she crept quietly after him and watched with interest as he took out a notebook and pencil and began to write in it. She had watched him as he arrived yesterday, hiding herself in the ruins of the city, so that he would not see her. Though her first instinct had been to run, Alya's curiosity had got the better of her and she had followed the stranger as he walked quickly through the ruined streets.

The twelve-year-old had never seen someone like the stranger before. He was a very tall man, well over six feet in height. His skin was pale, like the soldiers in blue that patrolled the streets of Ishbal, but his hair was a yellow gold colour, not the pale blond that some of the soldiers had. Even that was not the strangest thing about him, though. When he had turned his head towards where Alya was hiding, she had caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were not the pale green, grey and blue that most of the blue-clad soldiers had. Neither were they red like her own.

Alya had never seen anyone with yellow eyes before.


	17. History

_Eastern Desert,_

After about half an hour of peering through the doorway of the roofless circular building and watching the golden coloured man write in his notebook, Alya's curiosity was beginning to get the better of her. The big man had done nothing but sit on a convenient piece of collapsed pillar and scribble in his notebook, occasionally looking up at the elaborately decorated wall in front of him. That in itself was no longer interesting, so Alya reasoned that whatever was _in_ the notebook had to be fascinating, otherwise the yellow man wouldn't spend so much time with it.

The floor of the huge circular hall was covered in sand that had been blown in by the desert wind and as Alya crept forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was the man writing, her bare feet made no sound as they pushed aside the shifting sand beneath them. A line of pillars circled the inside of the building, following the curve of the wall. As Alya moved ever closer to the fascinating stranger who had come uninvited to her city, she darted from pillar to pillar, hiding herself behind one long enough make sure the stranger hadn't heard her before moving to the next one.

Eventually, she made her way to a pillar that was next but one to the fallen one that the yellow-haired stranger was sitting on and peered curiously at the man. He was still studying the mural on the wall intently and making notes and sketches. Now that she was closer to him, Alya could hear the blond man muttering to himself, constantly repeating a few phrases.

". . . Gate opened . . . emissary of truth . . . those who . . . their just reward . . . purification of the corrupted . . . crimes of . . . Xerxes . . . what crimes?. . . created life which is not . . . a homunculus?. . . the Gate traveller . . . cleanse the defilers. . . foretold?"

Apparently frustrated, the man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dratted ancestors and their need to be incessantly abstract," he muttered. He sighed and laid his notebook down on the fallen pillar, then got up and started to stretch his arms. Alya wasn't surprised. Sitting on the ridged stone pillar couldn't have been comfortable and resting his notes on his knee as he wrote hadn't looked like the easiest of positions either.

A small breeze made the pages of the notebook flutter open and turn, but to her disappointment, Alya still could not see what was in it, so she inched closer to her city's uninvited guest. As he picked up the small leather-bound volume again, a flowery smell caught her attention and Alya sniffed the air curiously. Was the yellow man wearing perfume?

So intent was Alya on catching a glimpse of the man's notebook that she didn't watch where she was putting her feet. She dislodged some loose pebbles that were scattered around the base of her hiding place and the sudden noise made the yellow-eyed man look up in surprise.

"Hello?" he called in a deep voice. "Is someone there?"

Alya stood stock still, frozen in panic as the man stood and began to approach her hiding place. "Hello?" he called again. "Is anyone here?"

As the man drew closer, Alya threw caution to the winds and darted out from behind the pillar. She ran straight past him, snatching the notebook out of his hand. The man let out a cry of surprise and reached for her, but Alya was quick on her feet and the man only succeeded in losing his footing in the unstable sand. He tripped, falling bottom over head, and crunched to a halt on the floor.

Alya seized her advantage and hared towards the doorway, the notebook gripped tightly in her hand. As she raced forward, Alya heard a clapping sound behind her and a flash lit up the hall. To her shocked surprise, the sand changed beneath her feet, becoming hard rock, which tore at her skin as she ran. Alya stubbed a toe on a rock that hadn't been there a second before and lost her footing. She shrieked as she tumbled to the now hard ground. Alya heard footsteps behind her, growing louder with each passing second and pushed herself up off the ground, ignoring her aching foot. Then she looked in front of her and froze.

The door had vanished. There was only a smooth blank wall in front of her. From behind her, Alya heard the footsteps of the yellow-haired man. She turned to face him and flattened herself against the wall that moments ago had been a doorway. Maybe if she was lucky it would come back?

"Hello," the man said pleasantly as he approached, holding out his hand to her. "Can I have my notes back please?"

Alya gulped nervously and put the small leather-bound notebook in the yellow-eyed man's large hand.

He smiled at her. "Thank you. No hard feelings."

The man didn't seem to be angry and Alya let out a relieved breath. "I'm sorry," she muttered, hanging her head. "I just wanted to look."

"You know, you could have just asked," the man told her in an amused tone, slipping the notebook into his cloak pocket. As he did so, a page came free from the notebook and fell towards the ground. Alya reached out quickly and caught it before it hit the ground. She looked at it curiously and saw that it was not a writing page, but a photograph.

The small picture was of the man in front of her with a pretty brown-haired woman and two little boys. Both boys had blond hair, but only the older one's was the same golden shade as the man, and as Alya studied the picture, she noticed the older boy had the same golden eyes as well. The younger boy, barely more than a baby, had wide grey eyes, just like the brown haired woman. She was probably his mother, Alya decided.

"Are they your family?" Alya asked the man shyly.

He nodded, taking out a canteen of water from his cloak pocket and swallowing a mouthful. "My wife and sons," he told her.

Alya noticed something odd in the picture and frowned. "Why are you crying?" she asked the man, pointing to the tears on his face in the picture.

He smiled sadly at her. "Because I didn't want to leave," he explained. "But I'm searching for something important. I can't go back to them until I've found it."

"Is it here?" the twelve-year-old wanted to know as she handed the picture back to him. "Is that why you came all the way out here?"

"No," the man replied, "but there are some clues here as to where I might find it. And speaking of coming all the way out here, why are you in a ruined city in the middle of the Eastern Desert? You're Ishballan, aren't you? How did you get all the way out here? Where are your parents?"

Alya shrugged. "Dunno," she lied. "I've always been here."

"Always?" the man asked in surprise. "Well, is there anyone with you?"

"Nope," Alya said, shaking her head. "Just me. Sometimes the traders with the funny shaped eyes come through, or more people like me come from the cities where the sun sets, but they never stay long."

"Funny shaped. . . Xingians I suppose," the big man murmured. "But. . . cities where the sun sets?" the man wondered.

"Yep," Alya told him. "That way," she said, pointing in the direction the other Ishballans always approached from.

Her blond haired guest laughed. "You mean west child," he chuckled. "Don't you know the names of the compass points? West is where Ishbal is, at least from here anyway."

"I know that," Alya said sulkily. She felt irritated by the man's amusement. Of course she knew where Ishbal was! She wasn't a complete dummy. "Don't call me child!" she told him in annoyance. "My name's Alya. I'm twelve!"

"Well, how very old you are!" the man announced, smiling. "My name is Hohenheim."

"Ho-en-hi-em?" Alya repeated, sounding out the word carefully. "That's a weird name. It's so long and hard to say! Can I just call you Hoho?"

"Wouldn't you rather use my proper name?" Hohenheim asked hopefully.

Alya thought about this. "Don't think so," she decided. "I like Hoho better."

"Yes, I thought you probably would," Hohenheim muttered, a rather resigned expression on his face. "Well I suppose I've been called worse."

Alya giggled. "You're funny. Where are you from? I've never seen anyone like you before. You look like the people pictures on the walls. They're all yellow too."

Hohenheim smiled at the girl's curiosity. "My ancestors were from this city," he explained. "That's why I look like the people in the paintings. But up till two years ago I lived in a place called Resembool. That's where my family are."

As she absorbed his information, Alya's stomach rumbled, informing her that it was time for lunch. "You have to put the doorway back Hoho," she said, pulling at his hand. "Otherwise I can't get something to eat. I'm hungry. Put the doorway back."

"Ah," Hohenheim said in apparent surprise. "There was a doorway?"

"Yes!" Alya insisted. "And then you turned the sand to stone and made the doorway disappear. Put it back!"

"Ah," Hohenheim said again. "Right." Then, as Alya watched, he clapped his hands and pressed them to the smooth, blank wall. For a moment the wall buckled and twisted and then the doorway was back in its proper place as if it had never been gone.

"How did you do that?" Alya asked. "Are you magic?"

Hohenheim laughed. "No, no," he said with a grin. "I'm just an alchemist."

Alya froze. In her mind she could hear the priests shouting at her father and the despairing wails of her mother. The chant of Exile echoed in her ears.

_Alchemy, which allows man to change the natural order of the world, which Ishballa created, is an abomination unto him. Trust not the alchemist, for he seeks power that belongs only to god. Turn him away from your door lest the corruption he brings spread to you. If a child of Ishballa becomes an alchemist, weep for him, for he has lost his path and is unknown to his Father forever more. Weep also for his family who must be cast out alongside him, for they have resided knowingly with a sinner and are silently corrupted. Cast out the Alchemist and his followers. Let them be purified by the desert sand._

Alya shook herself out of her daze and looked up at Hohenheim to find him watching her thoughtfully. "I forgot," he murmured, "your people don't like Alchemy, do they?"

"The priests say that it's evil," Alya said carefully, not wanting to provoke the alchemist. "Ishballa made the world the way it is and humans shouldn't be allowed to change it. Alchemy is the power to change the way the world was made and corrupt Ishballa's design. The priests say that anything that can do that must come from something really bad."

"Perhaps they have a point," Hohenheim whispered quietly so that the child couldn't hear him. "Surely I am nothing but a monster."

###

_East City._

Berthold George slapped his brandy glass down on the table so hard that it almost shattered. "What do you mean young Mustang is in East City? What in blazes is he doing here and why am I just finding this out now?"

His butler coughed politely and prudently moved the brandy glass out of harm's way before replying. "Just as I said sir, the Major arrived in East City on the overnight train this afternoon. He met briefly with Major General Grumman and then was driven to the ECPD's headquarters where he spoke with Captain Reynard and Lieutenant Collins."

"Bentley," Mr. George said testily, "I can't help but notice that you didn't answer my question. Why am I only finding out about this _now_?"

Bentley coughed again. "It appears that our informant at the military HQ was. . . indisposed earlier today," he replied delicately. "He has only just recovered."

_Translation: He was as drunk as a skunk and he's only just sobered up, _Mr. George thought, but did not say aloud lest he upset his butler. The man could be over-sensitive about the oddest things. "Wait, Collins? Trevor Collins? 'Straight Arrow' Collins?"

"Indeed sir," the butler confirmed.

"As in Trev Collins, who has been investigating our killer alchemist? And continues to do so despite that idiot Reynard's insistence that he's wasting his time? Trev Collins who, the last time I sent a messenger to him with an extremely generous bribe, sent said messenger to the hospital with three dislocated fingers and a broken jaw?" Berthold asked slowly, as if ticking off the details on a mental list.

"Indeed sir."

"Bentley. . . this is just a guess, but the Major wouldn't have happened to head towards the nearest sewer opening once he finished speaking with the lieutenant, would he?"

"Indeed sir," Bentley repeated. "The Lieutenant accompanied him in fact. They were both seen descending into the sewers, while a young private whom we have not yet identified remained above, likely with orders to go for help if they didn't return within a specified time limit. The private is so far obeying orders, although he seems to have taken the absence of any superior officers as a golden opportunity to have a quiet smoke, sir."

"So," Berthold mused, "it appears that the military has at last deigned to notice their crazy former State Alchemist, and they sent young Roy to deal with him. While I, in my infinite wisdom, sent Sakura and Sparky to deal with him. They're all running around in the sewers below us and eventually they're bound to run _into_ each other."

"An interesting confrontation to be sure," Bentley opined.

"Bentley," Mr. George sighed, "I think you may have just uttered the understatement of the year, if not the century. Very soon, the young Flame Alchemist is going to run into a man who looks exactly like he will in approximately a decade. Said man is also an alchemist, and if the sparks that glove threw off are anything to go by, then our Sparky also specialises in fire alchemy. 'Interesting confrontation' doesn't cover it. 'Explosive', and 'catastrophic' are much more suitable adjectives I think you'll find."

"Indeed sir."

"Bentley?"

"Yes sir?"

"If you say 'Indeed sir' in that annoying voice one more time, I swear there will be trouble."

"Right you are sir."

"Oh just pour me another glass of brandy, would you? I have a feeling there's going to be a firework show soon."

"Indeed sir."

As the butler left the room to avoid the vicious glare his employer was favouring him with, Berthold George sighed and sat back in his armchair. _Perhaps this could work out in my favour, _he mused. _At the very least Sparky's reaction to young Roy might tell me something new about him. Maybe about both of them?_

The old man sighed again and picked up his cane, idly tracing the design carved into it. Wild horses ran endlessly around the circle of wood beneath his fingers. It wasn't exactly his style, but the cane had been a gift from a valued friend, and the old man couldn't deny that it was useful. As he spun the cane around, watching the horses in their endless race, a depressing thought finally made itself heard in Berthold's mind.

_If anything happens to young Roy, my daughter will probably never speak to me again. Mostly because she'll have killed me of course. Chris always did know how to hold a grudge._

"Family," the old crime lord muttered to the fire that burned merrily in the grate, "is just too damn complicated sometimes."


	18. Subvert

"Bloody hell!"

Trev Collins' exclamation echoed briefly in the confined quarters of the sewer tunnel as he took in the sight of the creature that the young Flame Alchemist had just roasted. "What in God's name is _that_?" he asked in disbelief.

"A successful chimera," the alchemist replied distastefully. "Full fusion of two or more regular animals to create a killing machine." The soldier squatted on his haunches and inspected the dead thing briefly. "Looks like dog crossed with. . . some sort of hunting bird, I think," he continued. "One with rather nasty talons at any rate."

"Bloody hell," Collins repeated with disgust. "And our nutcase is trying to achieve this with humans. What is _wrong _with alchemists?"

The soldier raised an eyebrow at him, a slight smirk on his lips. "I'm deeply wounded Lieutenant."

"Uh, well, present company excepted of course Major," Collins said hastily. "You're the very soul of sanity, I'm sure."

The Major let out a short laugh. "Here's hoping," he said cryptically, as he pushed himself upright. "Come on, we'd better keep going. Now that we've started encountering chimeras, their master won't be far behind."

"Right," Collins agreed, slipping his gun from his pocket as he followed the Major down the tunnel. If the bastard showed himself, Collins hoped like hell he'd give cause to have a bullet introduced to his skull. The idea of the crazy alchemist doing experiments on the people of _his _city outraged the police lieutenant and he fervently hoped that he'd at least be able to get in a little payback on their behalf. Damn all crazy State Alchemists anyway.

Although, Major Mustang wasn't too bad, Collins supposed. He seemed like a nice kid, even if he did have an odd habit of spacing out at weird times and talking to himself. He wasn't half as arrogant as those annoying morons from the military's Investigations Department, who thought it was their god-given right to walk into any crime scene they pleased and demand jurisdiction immediately, that was for sure.

Up ahead of him, the Major paused again, his gaze turned once more towards a nondescript piece of wall. Then he nodded as if agreeing with someone and continued on through the tunnel once again. Collins watched the Major's actions carefully, thought about it, and decided that if he had to deal with a crazy alchemist that was trying to mix people with animals, then he was probably better off having an alchemist on his side too. Even if he wasn't sure that said alchemist was entirely sane either.

###

Gerhardt Kreiner kicked the charred remains of yet another chimera out of his way and growled in anger. He had returned briefly to one of his old make-shift labs to look for some missing research notes, but instead he had found the burnt up corpses of the chimeras he had left behind to guard his workplaces from any more inconvenient people who might come looking. The trash who had searched the sewers before had been annoyingly persistent, but they seemed to have given up for now. At least they had provided him with raw material for his research.

As he surveyed the carnage of the room, the Animal Alchemist frowned in thought. There was something odd about the scorch marks on the walls and the way the chimeras had been so precisely roasted. Kreiner would be the first to admit that he was not the world's authority on how fires behaved, but even to him, the scorching on the walls and the near incineration of his chimeras looked somewhat odd. It was too clean, too perfectly controlled. Fire did not act this way; once lit, it usually spread out of control, burning everything in its path.

"Some sort of alchemy?" Kreiner wondered to himself. No, that couldn't be it. Control of gases and air molecules to create fire was one of the most difficult branches of alchemy to master, requiring a massive amount of mental control and focus. Lose that for even a second, and a prospective fire alchemist would be incinerated by his own flames. The precision that would have been required to use alchemy to burn up his chimeras this way was surely impossible for any human to develop. No one could be that skilled.

The greasy-haired alchemist squatted down gingerly and turned over the remains of a dog-lizard chimera thoughtfully as he ran through the possibilities. "Some sort of weapon then?" he thought aloud. "A gun that spits fire, perhaps?"

An interesting idea, he admitted, but the tank supplying it would only hold a limited amount of fuel and carrying such a device would soon tire even the strongest soldier. Kreiner snorted derisively. As usual, whatever the military came up with was inferior to his work. For a short time the military's new weapon would seem more effective, but it would run out of fuel, or break down from the fatigue of use, while his chimeras would always be ready to attack. It was for that reason that he knew that his research was the most important out of all the work being done by the State Alchemists. Only his work was truly integral to Amestris' safety and security. Why his superiors just couldn't see this, he was at a loss to know.

Muttering angrily to himself about conservative old fools, the Animal Alchemist made his way slowly back through the slime-ridden tunnels to his latest test subject, moving quietly and carefully and listening intently for any intruders. By the time he made it back to his current lab he had spotted at least three pairs of different footprints and quite a few more dead chimeras, though some were not as precisely burned as the first ones he'd found. Kreiner guessed that meant there were at least two soldiers down here with access to a fire-gun, one clearly more proficient with his weapon than the other.

The interruption to his work was unfortunate, Gerhardt mused, but not a disaster. The soldiers could not keep using their fire devices forever. Eventually their fuel would run out and then his creations would overwhelm them easily. The soldiers would end up the same way the criminal who came looking for him had: as raw materials for his experiments.

Still, he thought, as he locked and bolted the door to his current lab behind him, it was going to be a shame to have to leave East City. But now that the military had taken notice of him and sent down men equipped with such weapons, he just couldn't afford to stay any longer.

Decision made, Kreiner went to release the most vicious of his recent all-animal creations. They were deadly creatures, strong and fast, with an almost insatiable thirst for blood. They'd easily keep the soldiers busy while he and his latest test subject made their way out of the city. They could be on the road to North City by dawn, with no one the wiser. Kreiner smiled wistfully and hummed to himself. It would be good to be on border patrol again.

###

Muffled, frantic sounds cut through the silence of the lamp-lit cell, catching Gerard's attention. He paused in his polishing of the now wickedly sharp edge on the handle of his spoon. He moved as close to the door as his leg-chain would allow and listened carefully. There came a loud and vicious snarl and the sound of something heavy hitting the door abruptly and, in a moment of panic, Gerard fell backwards, tripping over the chain and landing in an ungainly heap on the floor of his cell.

The snarling grew louder and even as Gerard hissed in pain from his fall, he gripped the make-shift weapon tightly in his hand, ready to strike at whatever monsters might be coming through the door, animal or otherwise.

But though the snarling and snapping continued as the seconds passed by, there was no further pushing against the door. No one came through and gradually the sounds of bloodthirsty wild animals died away. Gerard let out a slow breath of relief and returned to polishing his weapon. The boy quickly became engrossed in the task. So engrossed in fact, that he stopped listening carefully, or indeed, at all. Thus he missed the sound of quiet footsteps approaching the cell door and so, when it slammed open Gerard was taken completely by surprise.

Once again, he tumbled to the ground, but this time the chain that bound his leg scraped painfully against his arm as he fell. Gerard let out a howl of pain as blood ran down his arm and curled into a ball, hiding his spoon in his shirt as he did so.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and then strong burly arms hauled him into a sitting position. The boy realised with a shudder that he was almost sat in his captor's lap and he hunched his shoulders, curling in on himself.

"Did I scare you?" Creepy Guy asked in his 'talking-to-a-particularly-stupid-toddler' voice. He pulled Gerard's arm towards the light to get a better look and hummed sympathetically. "That's a nasty scratch. Would you like a bandage for it?"

Gerard hid a scowl and nodded gingerly, deciding to play the dumb, scared kid for now. He let his fringe fall into his eyes and sniffed slightly, as if holding back tears. The man set him on his feet and stood up, ruffling the boy's dirty hair. "I'll be right back, okay? Be a good boy and wait for me."

Gerard nodded again, though he felt like yelling at the man. Wait for him? There was a bloody big chain around his ankle. Exactly where did Creepy Guy think Gerard was gonna go? Gerard decided to push his luck a bit.

"It huuurts!" he whined as pathetically as he could. "An' I'm hungry!"

A smile flickered on Creepy Guy's face. He seemed delighted that Gerard had started speaking to him. He reached out and tousled the boy's hair again. "Don't worry pet," he said reassuringly. "I'll be right back with a bandage and some food."

Gerard showed him a hopeful smile, but his insides were squirming. The way the man talked to him was really bothering him now, and he'd put his finger on why. Creepy Guy didn't talk to him as if he was a child. He talked as if Gerard was a dog, like the way his Mom had talked to the dog when she was house-training it. Once the alchemist had left, shutting the door behind him, Gerard allowed himself to shudder.

###

As another chimera leapt towards him, snarling and barking with rage, Mustang snapped again, frying the bizarre creature in mid air. It fell to the ground with a thump and sizzled slightly as the baking hot corpse hit the sludge coating the tunnel floor. Behind him Sakura fended off another beast, striking it in the eye with an expertly hurled throwing noise. The dog-thing let out a last whine and slumped to the ground. The scarred woman waited for a moment to make sure the chimera was dead and then went to retrieve her knife.

Sakura sniffed the air as she worked her knife free from the ruins of the chimera's eye. "That," she announced, gesturing to the fried, slime-coated corpse of the beast that had attacked Mustang, "is the most revolting smell I have ever experienced. Thank you for the opportunity."

Mustang glared at her. "I do apologise," he retorted, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Perhaps next time I should just let it eat you."

"Or you could just burn me instead," Sakura riposted, carefully cleaning her knife. "I think death would have been preferable to smelling . . . that."

"Well incinerated human remains don't smell so bad, I admit. More like the smell of cooking meat. It makes the mouth water."

Sakura cocked an eyebrow at him. "That is morbid and disgusting and, though I haven't known you long, I suspect you would normally never say something so. . .deranged. What is the matter?"

Mustang looked at her in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Sakura narrowed her eyes. "You just betrayed your cannibalistic tendencies. The smell of burned humans makes your mouth water, you said."

"I said no such thing!" Mustang insisted angrily, giving the woman a look of disgust. "I would _never_ say something like that," he growled.

"You said it only moments ago," Sakura stated flatly. "I am not deaf. You said it quite clearly."

Mustang stared at her, wondering if she was kidding. "If this is a joke, then you have a really sick sense of humour," he told her.

"I hardly think _you _can pass judgement on other people's sense of humour," she snapped. "Considering you seem to have no idea what is in good taste and what is not."

"I did not say any such thing!" Mustang hissed at her. "I suggest you get your ears checked, clearly something is wrong if you're hearing things!"

"Enough," Sakura declared. "I tire of this. If you regret saying such a thing, then say so. Do not claim that you did not say it after it has been said."

"I did _not-_"

"Enough," Sakura repeated, cutting him off again as she moved ahead, giving a glare of disgust as she passed him. "Continuing to argue about this is pointless. We have a job to do and we are wasting time standing around here. The man we seek should be close. Let us concentrate on finding him and keep our tasteless comments to ourselves."

"Agreed," Mustang grated, following her. _What the hell was that about? _He wondered. _She says maybe I should have burned her instead, goes silent and then accuses me of . . . saying something cannibalistic? She didn't _seem _crazy before. And Berthold George would never employ a crazy person. They're too erratic, can cause. . . problems. But I didn't say anything. I know it._

Mustang massaged his temple. As if all this wasn't enough, he could feel a headache coming on.

###

In the recesses of the Flame Alchemist's mind, Envy allowed himself to feel a glow of triumph. He was getting through and the human didn't even know it.

But it was difficult, the homunculus thought in irritation. Having to move so carefully, so slowly to influence the human's actions without his conscious realisation. Why was it so damn hard? Humans were weak, pathetic beings whose bodies started falling apart in less than a century. It was a wonder they survived at all. They could barely fight too. The only reason the pipsqueak had been any trouble was the fact that he'd taken a quick look in the Gate and been given knowledge other humans didn't have. Well, that and his automail. Envy was not above admitting that being struck by one of shorty's metal limbs bloody well _hurt._

But this wasn't The Pipsqueak. This was Mustang and the Gate hadn't given him knowledge, Envy was sure of that. For a start, he was still in possession of all his limbs.

And his eye. Which had apparently been shot out.

Oh, and those bizarre blood-coloured tattoos on his hands.

Envy groaned, cursing himself for forgetting about that. The Gate had done something to Mustang, then. It must have given him some sort of power, otherwise Envy would have been able to succeed much earlier. How else could a mere human's mind be so strong?

_Blasted Gate-Bitch, _the homunculus swore. Well she wouldn't be succeeding in her plan, Envy would make sure of that. There was no way in hell he was going to just sit back and let Flamey change whatever he liked. If the human thought things were going to be easy, then he had another think coming. Besides, whatever power the Gate had given him, Mustang had neither full access nor control over it yet. The tattoos hadn't glowed in some time either. That must mean _something._ Envy was especially curious to figure out why they had done so in the first place.

Envy winced as an image of the Elrics flickered through his hosts mind. Well hooray, he thought, Flamey is worrying about The Pipsqueak and Tin-Can again. Aargh! Would it kill him to _not_ do that at least once every day? Not to mention it would have been nice if his achievement of the week had had the intended effect of making Mustang worry about his own sanity. But nooo, he thought the knife-throwing woman was the one losing it. Just stinking fantastic. Why the hell did the man attract so many people fascinated with pointy projectiles anyway?


	19. Monster

**Chapter 19: Monster**

A small oil lamp illuminated the room as the Animal Alchemist worked feverishly, putting notes and sketches into piles. There wasn't time to sort them perfectly, but Kreiner at least hoped to get his research in some semblance of order before he took it and his test subject north. It would mean having far less work to do when they arrived in North City.

Kreiner snarled in annoyance. The military pests had destroyed the strongest chimeras he'd sent against them. His wonderful creations had been swatted aside like so many flies and his pursuers seemed nowhere near to running out of fuel for their fire-guns by the look of things. What could he do? He had to slow them down, had to buy himself time to get his research and his last test subject out of here.

Thinking of the boy dampened the alchemist's irritation and he smiled briefly. The boy was beginning to respond and depend on him. That was good. If the subject was dependant on the alchemist who was its master as a human then it became more loyal to its creator as a chimera. It was a shame to have to interrupt the boy's conditioning, Kreiner mused, as he packed away several notebooks in a rucksack, but that could be remedied later. Theoretically, there should be no long-term complications arising from the necessity to move from the primary conditioning site.

Kreiner paused in his work and scratched thoughtfully at his beard. Perhaps moving now might even help the conditioning process? Now that he thought of it, separating the future chimera from its human home might be very beneficial to the necessary acceptance and adjustment to its new status as an obedient weapon.

Thinking of weapons, the Animal Alchemist's good mood vanished as he remembered that there were still interfering military personnel to deal with and so far all the chimeras that he had sent against them had failed.

There was one option left to deal with the interlopers, but that particular chimera was his pride and joy, his biggest success so far, and he was reluctant to let it loose against soldiers armed with some sort of flame-thrower. It would win of course, he was confident of that, but his masterpiece might just be destroyed in the process. Kreiner sighed as the sound of an explosion echoed through the sewers. It did seem as though he had no choice. He would have to send Ursus to destroy the men hunting him.

The Animal Alchemist pulled a particularly large key out of his pocket and, clenching it in his fist, he strode into the depths of the sewers. His destination was a large tunnel leading to an extra thick, barred door. As the greasy haired man approached, a snuffling sound coming from behind the door grew louder. Something very heavy slammed against the reinforced door, making it shake on its hinges. Kreiner smiled.

"Hello pet," he cooed through the small barred window. "Are you feeling hungry? Don't worry. I have some news for you. There are some bad people wandering around our home and they want to hurt me and take away your new little brother."

An angry growl answered the alchemist and the door rattled again as the occupant within slammed itself against it once again. "_Little broth-er?" _a guttural voice asked.

"That's right," Kreiner answered gently. "I told you about him, remember?"

"_Remember,_" the rasping voice agreed. "_Little broth-er . . . mine?_"

"Yes," Kreiner replied encouragingly. "He's your brother. But the bad people want to take him away, just like they tried to take me away before."

"_No!_" the chimera within the cell howled. "_Little brother . . . is mine. Mine!" _

"Hush," the greasy-haired man said soothingly. "Don't worry. You won't let them take him, isn't that right?"

"_Right . . ."_ the creature repeated. "_Won't let them," _it rasped. _"Will rip them. Will . . . tear them. Will eat . . . them. Little brother is . . . mine. Fath-er is . . . mine."_

"Yes," the alchemist assured his creation as he opened the barred door. "And Father and little brother need your help." He reached out a hand and patted the creature's furry head. "You will help me get rid of the bad people won't you? You're a good boy."

"_Good boy,_" the chimera rasped happily. "_Ursus is . . . a good . . . boy, Fath-er. Will find . . . bad people. Will smell them."_

"Good," Kreiner praised. "Find the bad people and make them go away. Smelling them will be easy for you."

"_Easy?_" his creation asked curiously. "_Bad people smell . . . bad?_"

"Yes," the Animal Alchemist answered, a tight-lipped smile on his face. "The bad people smell of fire."

"_Fire . . ."_

###

Roy growled in frustration. He and Collins had been walking for what seemed like hours, had run into multiple (now flash-fried) chimeras and had discovered a total of three maintenance areas that had clearly been used by the Animal Alchemist as temporary labs and hideouts. The sad remains of increasingly better looking human chimeras that littered the rooms were a testament to that. It was all too obvious that the crazy alchemist had been getting closer and closer to his goal. The whole situation was becoming more frustrating by the minute. Even Ed, who was still floating next to the wall, looked more than a little put out.

"_How hard can it be to find one crazy alchemist?" _he asked the air around him as Roy and Lieutenant Collins took a last glance around the depressing little room that they were investigating and trudged back into the main tunnel of the sewer.

Roy hissed, blowing air between his teeth in frustration. In a very real way, he could feel Edward's anger and it mirrored his own almost exactly. He was getting sick of finding and frying Kreiner's experiments. He wanted to find the criminal himself and explain with _precise detail_ why he disapproved of the man's work. Irritated, he kicked his foot out, sending splashes of sewer muck flying in all directions. This only succeeded in making his companion give him a dirty look. Well, a dirty-er look.

The young Major was just about to apologise when an odd sound caught his attention. A quiet ongoing _thud_ that was very slowly becoming louder. Roy looked sharply at Collins. "Can you hear that?" he demanded.

"I can barely hear anything over the crap you just chucked in my ears," Collins snapped, wiping a stray piece of what he really hoped was just mud off the bridge of his nose. But then he frowned and turned his head as he also heard the faint, continuous thudding. "Now that you mention it, though . . ."

"I can't tell which way it's coming from," Roy said. "Can you?"

Collins shook his head. "It's these damn tunnels," he replied, as he checked his gun. "The way sound echoes in here, it could be comin' from any direction. Think it's another of the crazy bastard's experiments?"

"Probably," Roy said, as the thudding sound grew louder and louder. "Sounds a lot bigger than the previous ones though," he added.

"Great," Collins muttered. "Hope you've got your snappin' fingers ready."

"Always," Roy assured the lieutenant with a confidence he did not feel. The sound was now _very _loud and as Collins had pointed out, the way the tunnels caused it to echo back and forth made it impossible to tell where it was coming from. Stopping or going back was not an option, so the two man proceeded along the echoing main tunnel of the sewer, both ready to attack at the first sign of danger.

Even so, when the attack came, it still took them half by surprise. The two men had just come to an intersection where two of the larger main tunnels crossed and the thudding sound, which had been steadily growing louder as they continued on, ceased abruptly. Both soldier and police officer tensed and waited.

Silence.

Holding up his lantern, Lieutenant Collins cautiously advanced into the intersection "Look like it's sa-" he started to say, before a roar echoed from the opposite tunnel, cutting him off.

A huge snarling creature loomed out from the shadows of the crossing tunnel and lumbered towards the policeman. He yelped in surprise and jumped back, losing his grip on the lantern he was carrying as his hands stretched out automatically to keep his balance.

Collins' lantern hit the ground and smashed, its light instantly quenched by the slime and watery muck that covered everything in the dank tunnels. The creature, seeing the advantage, lurched forward and went to take a swipe at the older man with a sharp clawed fore-limb. Collins ducked and tried to avoid it, but he was only partially successful. The edge of the monster's attempted blow caught him across the top of his head. Collins gave a shout of pain and lost his footing, tumbling to the ground. As the creature drew its clawed limb back to deliver another blow he rolled away, acquiring an almost complete covering of the foul-smelling muck which coated everything in the tunnel.

Roy, who had been momentarily blinded by the flash of light when the lantern smashed, cursed and belatedly threw out his free hand, quickly snapping his fingers.. Alchemic light flashed as his circle lit up, briefly illuminating more of the tunnel and giving Roy a brief look at huge beast that had attacked Collins. Then gouts of flame blossomed outwards from his fist, narrowly avoiding the fallen lieutenant as they passed over him and scorched the creature. It roared in pain, but did not back away. Instead the huge creature let out an almost human-sounding scream and lurched forward again. Towards the wounded police lieutenant, who was trying to crawl out of the way and get to his feet at the same time.

As the creature made its way forwards, Roy sent another ball of fire towards it. This succeeded in distracting the monster's attention from Collins, but did not stop it. Turning towards Roy, the beast let out another roar. Patches of its fur were still on fire and it was snarling in rage. It moved more slowly now, but was still determinedly focused on its prey. Roy gulped and took a step back. He knew a more powerful blast would probably destroy the monster, but it might well bring the roof of the tunnel down on their heads. Roy felt himself freeze up. What could he do?

"_Grab Collins and run, you idiot!" _Ed yelled at him. _"Get out of here! Now!"_

Ed's shout broke through his panic and the young Flame Alchemist used a small explosion to distract the creature while he dodged around it, then ran to the fallen man and pulled him up. Collins was dazed, breathing too fast and blood was streaming down his forehead, but the wound itself didn't look that deep. He blinked in confusion as Roy threw an arm around his back and tried to keep him upright.

"Wha-?"

"Come on!" Roy shouted, trying to jar the man out of his daze. "We've got to get out of here!"

The chimera snarled again and thudded towards them. Roy had one hand holding up Collins and the other had a death-grip on the lantern he was carrying, the only remaining light source in the tunnel. Just as the creature was about to take another swipe at them with its claws, Collins' dazed expression cleared and his fingers tightened on the gun he'd forgotten he was holding. The sound of the shot reverberated across the tunnel and the creature reared back, screaming and roaring in pain.

"You're right, time to go," Collins decided as he grabbed the Major's arm and dragged him through the muck and slime to a smaller tunnel past the intersection, that he hoped the creature wouldn't be able to enter. The two men kept running blindly, even as the roars of the creature grew quieter as they distanced themselves from it. Finally, they came across a door to another of the maintenance areas. The door was locked, but half-rotted. The police lieutenant took one look at it and then shattered it with a powerful kick.

The two men rushed inside and Collins headed for the inner door to one of the side rooms, but Roy halted and turned to the broken door. He drew a quick basic construction array in the slime and in a flash of blue light there was a very rough wall where the door had been.

"_Sloppy," _Ed commented.

Roy glared at him. _Give me a break, I've spent the last eight years learning how to manipulate gases, not solids. Like you could do any better. _

"_In the interest of tact, I decline to answer that. Go and check on Collins, he might have concussion."_

###

Mustang and Sakura had been walking in relative silence following their argument when they heard the sounds of a fight. The pained roar of animal in pain and a man's muffled shout of panic echoed through the sewer tunnel.

Sakura hissed, a knife suddenly appearing in her hand. "It's coming from that way," she announced, pointing to a tunnel to the left of them after listening carefully for a moment. "We should head towards it, but keep your guard up and be ready for the fight."

"Oh and here I thought we were just going to ask Kreiner for donation to charity," Mustang snarked.

Sakura did not smile. Mustang silently acknowledged that it hadn't been one of his best lines, but he suspected the scarred woman's lack of humour was more to do with her sudden conviction that he might be a psychopath.

They continued heading towards the sound of the fight, once again in relative silence. However, when the sound of a gunshot rang out, the alchemist let out an involuntary gasp of surprise.

"Kreiner wouldn't shoot his own creatures unless he absolutely had to," Mustang explained when Sakura shot him a quizzical look. "And he hates to hire help. I don't think that's him. We should hurry, someone else might be in trouble, maybe one of your boss' people."

"You know, you never did say how you met the man," Sakura said thoughtfully, quickening her pace to catch up with the suddenly accelerating man.

"In a situation very similar to this one if you must know," he replied. "I'll tell you all about it later if you want."

Sakura considered this offer for a second. "No, thank you," she decided. "I'd rather not hear about anymore of this man's insanity."

"Good choice," Mustang muttered, dropping back slightly as Sakura pushed ahead of him, a knife ready in her hand.

She let the knife fly not a moment later, as they rounded a corner and came upon the chimera that had obviously been in the fight. The huge creature was shrieking in pain and hurling itself against the wall of the tunnel. Worrying cracking sounds came from the stone and the both humans realised that if the creature was not stopped then the tunnel wall might collapse and bury them alive.

Sakura's knife buried itself deep in one of the creature's huge arms and it shrieked in pain. Distracted from its attempts to break the wall, the creature lumbered towards Sakura and attempted to claw her. She dodged back nimbly, easily avoiding its attack and another knife slid into her palm ready for use. Sakura threw it quickly, but the creature moved at the last second and the knife which had been aimed for an eye.

However, the chimera's desperate movement caused it to slip and it fell heavily against one of the supports of the sewer wall, splintering the wood and shaking bricks and mortar loose. Masonry tumbled to the ground and though Sakura avoided the worst of it, part of the collapsing wall struck her shoulder, wrenching it violently. However, she did not scream or cry, but only let out a tiny grunt of discomfort.

Mustang snapped his fingers quickly and created a weak flare of fire to distract the creature while he rushed to pull Sakura back from the now sagging wall. He cursed the fact that the tunnel was too small and the walls too damaged to hold up under a full attack and concentrated on using his fire to confuse and disorientate the chimera as Sakura recovered herself enough to back away on her own.

This close to the creature, Mustang was afforded a very good view of exactly what he was fighting. It was huge. An amalgam of at least three different animals at least. The eyes were wide, crazed and disturbingly human; the outsized claws looked more like the talons of a hawk and the slavering, frothing mouth looked as if it belonged on a wolf. But it was the size of the creature that amazed and terrified Mustang. The sheer hugeness of the creature, the way it filled the tunnel almost to breaking point, told the alchemist that a prominent component in the monster's creation had been one of the renowned bears of Mount Briggs.

_I don't remember Kreiner having control of a creature like this before!_ _How the hell did he smuggle that thing all the way to East?_ Mustang wondered distantly as he snapped again and carefully backed away from the horrible beast.

As he retreated, with Sakura close on his heels, something else about the monstrous creature caught Mustang's eye. He had not used any direct attacks on the creature, none of his flames had actually touched it. Yet somehow, it had been burned badly by fire. Patches of fur were still smouldering and the chimera reeked of the too-familiar stink of burned flesh. More than that, the pattern of the burns looked distinctly familiar, and if it was what it seemed to be then that could only mean one thing.

_I'd know,_ Mustang insisted to himself even as he ducked backwards to avoid another claw swiping at his head. _If the younger me was in trouble, I'd know. I would. He's fine. He's probably not even down here yet. Just because that thing's been in a fight doesn't mean it was with him. That burn could have been caused by any number of things. _

_Name two Flame! _Mocking laughter echoed in his head, and then vanished so suddenly that he wasn't sure he'd heard it at all. _It's the stress_, he told himself, dodging another swipe of the creature's vicious claws. _You're imagining things_. _Now calm down and deal with this monster. Sakura's hurt. She's depending on you. Don't let her down. Don't be _useless.

"_Bad people," _the chimera rasped furiously, its voice twisted and warped, but oddly young-sounding. _"Go a-way. Fath-er is . . . mine! You . . . can't have. Mine! Go a-way bad man."_

_Oh God,_ Mustang realised, feeling sickened. _It's a just a little kid. But . . . Father? No, Kreiner didn't have . . .Whoa! _His train of thought cut off as he jumped back to avoid another blow, barely keeping his footing in the sewer's slippery muck. _It's going to keep attacking, _he thought angrily. _He's just a scared, angry kid and he'll kill us both if I don't kill him first. That _bastard _Kreiner is going to _pay_ for this. _

The chimera leapt. Mustang snapped with one hand and pushed Sakura out of the way with the other. Fire flared, and as it incinerated the snarling bloodthirsty beast, the explosion put even more pressure on the already weakened walls. The supports gave up against the weight bearing down on them and collapsed. Sakura rolled as she hit the ground, the thick slime of the sewer coating her from head to foot as she tried desperately to get out of the way of the falling masonry.

When the dust finally cleared all she could see were the collapsed remains of the tunnel roof and walls. There was no sign of the dark-haired alchemist who had just saved her life.

Sakura pushed herself to her feet and rushed to the pile of rubble, desperately digging through rock and dirt. "Hold on," she shouted, hoping that the man could still hear her. "I'll get you out! Can you hear me? Sparky?" As the last word left her mouth Sakura cursed violently. What a stupid thing to call someone! The man could be lying hurt and broken beneath the debris of the tunnel. He had saved her life and she couldn't even call him by name. "I'll get you out," she said again, this time to herself. "I'll get you out and then I'll ask your name. Hold on."

The last words were a whisper.

###

Trevor Collins rubbed his aching head and glanced at his military companion. "So," he asked gesturing at the alchemically created wall, "think it's safe for you to take that down yet?"

Major Mustang nodded. "Well, I guess since we can't hear that monster anymore it's probably safe enough."

His expression briefly became a little spaced out and then he nodded to himself again before crouching down to draw in the slime. Trevor, who by now, was becoming used to the kid's odd behaviour, leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms.

A second later, he jumped in alarm when the State Alchemist let out a hoarse scream and crumbled to the ground.


	20. Talk

_Ethereal light surrounded the dark haired man and he smiled lazily at the endless whiteness that stretched in all directions. This place felt familiar to him. Though he could not remember if he had been there before, the unearthly place made him feel safe and secure._

_"So. Here you are again."_

_He turned sharply at the sound of the words and found himself facing a glowing female shape, outlined in blue light._

_"Who are you?" he demanded, sudden panic and uncertainty washing away the serenity that the endless whiteness had brought._

_The woman-shape seemed to sigh. "You would not understand the answer to your question were We to give it. We are not human. We are a facet of the Whole. We have no name, rank or title. We merely are."_

_"Well good for you. You are also annoyingly and unnecessarily cryptic," the man snapped. "What do I call you then?"_

_Though the glowing woman's face had no features, it still seemed to the man as though she had begun to smile. "You could call Us a Guardian of the Gate. Or you could call Us the Gate itself."_

_"You can't be both," the dark-eyed man said. "Which one is it?"_

_"It is both," the woman-Gate replied. "We are both the Gate and it's Guardian. Night and Day. Life and Death. Lies and Truth."_

_Something about the statement kicked at his brain. There was something important about it, but he couldn't remember what. "I may not be able to understand what you are," the man told her, glaring. "But you aren't truth."_

_"And what is Truth, little human? An abstract concept? An incorruptible ideal? A name? A word? Perhaps it is none of those things. Perhaps there is no such thing as Truth."_

_"There is," he insisted firmly. "There is such a thing as truth. I know it."_

_The faceless woman laughed. "So stubborn! Just like the other one."_

_"Other one?" the man asked carefully, some instinct telling him that this was important. "What other one?"_

_"The other one," the woman-Gate said simply. "The one who is both child and adult. The protected and the protector. Powerful and weak. Wise and foolish. The adult who walks with one who you once were. The child who wishes for your return, but has abandoned hope of it."_

_"Child?" he asked, confused. "I don't have any children. I. . ." The man paused. His words had felt wrong. _

_Featureless though it was, the glowing woman's face seemed to carry the impossible suggestion of a sad smile. "You don't seem so sure about that, little human."_

_"I. . . I can't remember," the man said, slight panic in his tone. "I don't remember anything. But, I've been here before, haven't I? I don't. . . but I know this place."_

_"Yes. You came twice before. Once when you destroyed the twisted copy which perverted Us. Once as you slept in the home wherein dwell the children that an alchemist like you would abandon."_

_"I would **never** abandon my sons!" the man yelled, feeling a primitive, possessive fury at the accusation._

_The woman-Gate cocked her head to one side. "You are not the only alchemist in this world. We said they were abandoned. We did not say they were yours."_

_"But they are, aren't they? My boys," the man asked insistently, feeling sure he was right. A memory flickered in his mind's eye as he spoke, of two boys playing in a yard while their mother was gone to market, proudly showing him crude toys created with alchemy. The pride he had felt at the skill they had at such a young age. He was a skilled alchemist too. His sons had inherited his talent. Hadn't they?_

_Another memory, of saying goodbye at a railway station, dressed in uniform. The oldest boy, **his **oldest boy, handing him a charm for good luck. He had reminded them to behave for their mother while he was away. He had promised to return soon. Surely he was bidding farewell to his family before returning to the Front? There had been civil unrest, he remembered. There. . . was a war was coming?_

_"No." _

_The voice of the ethereal woman cut through the man's reverie. Her voice was emotionless now, as if she were merely stating facts that he should already know._

_"You have never been a father, little human. You gave up that chance to follow your goals."_

_"No," he snarled, outraged at her lies. "You're lying. I knew you weren't Truth. I remember them. I remember my sons-"_

_"You do not," the woman said, cutting him off. Her voice was softer and gentler now. There was pity in her tone and he hated her for it. "Your memories are confused, alchemist of fire. You remember the children of another man. They were your soldiers, not your sons."_

_"Soldiers? Don't be ridiculous," the man snapped. "They're children, barely more than babies. Even if they were older I would never let them enlist. Not my boys. Not them."_

_"It is so hard in this place, for mortals to hold onto their memories," she sighed, interrupting him again. The woman reached out a glowing hand and touched his forehead with a single finger. "Who are you?" she asked. "Where are you from? **When** are you from?" _

_The woman's touch was like ice. The shock of it travelled straight through his head and down his spine, bringing a flood of memory with it._

_"I am. . . Roy Mustang," he said through gritted teeth. "I am the Flame Alchemist. I. . ."_

_"You have no children," the Gate's personification finished for him._

_He shut his eyes. "Yes," he rasped. "My mistake. You were right. My apologies." Then his eyes snapped open and he stared at manifestation of power in front of him. "Why did you bring me here?" he demanded, his voice thick with barely concealed fury and painful loss. "What do you want? I remember the last time now. My heart's desire you said. How the hell is dropping me twelve years in the past my heart's desire?"_

_"Is that not what all humans desire?" he was asked. "To set right what once went wrong?"_

_"Call me suspicious," the Flame Alchemist snapped, "but somehow I doubt you did it out of the goodness of your heart. After all, that wouldn't be equivalent exchange, now would it?"_

_"As we told you before, you aided us and we rewarded you in return."_

_"I'm not buying it. There's a catch. There's always a catch. So what is it? Why did you bring me here again?"_

_"Just as the other one walks with the one you once were, someone also walks with you. But that one was not given Our aid. He is a poison, a perversion of life. Beware the one who can be all. He seeks to control and destroy you. To destroy Us."_

_"I knew it! Something is threatening you and you want me to take care of it for you."_

_"It is equivalent exchange," the woman-Gate said icily. "We restored your body. We gave you power. A price must be paid." _

_Then can't you help me fight him?" the man asked angrily. "You're talking about fighting a monster that can threaten you. You, who rip humans apart like dolls. And you want **me** to fight for you. I can't do this. I'm just one man."_

_"Rest assured, you are capable of this. We have already given you power beyond your imagining. We have given you a way to achieve your heart's desire. It is up to you to use it. The one who can be all is no longer of our realm. We can no longer affect him. He exists in the human world. In this conflict we require a human champion. We have chosen you. He walks with you. You must fight him alone."_

_"Well now you're just being maddeningly unhelpful," Mustang told her. "Could I at least have one straight answer?"_

_The woman-Gate seemed to frown. "We have given you answers. If you wish them to be straight, you must align them yourself."_

_"Cute," the man muttered. "You'd make a mint selling Xingese fortune cookies, you know that?"_

_For a second the woman-Gate's outline blurred, the sparking blue light which surrounded her growing stronger. When she spoke again her voice echoed oddly, as if two people were speaking instead of one. The first voice was that of the woman, gentle and soft like a quietly ringing bell. The second was that of a greedy vicious child._

_"We are threatened, human. We are One, We are Whole, We are Truth. We are the World. Would you have us fall?"_

_"Just what do you expect me to do?"_

_"Go to the remnant of the Golden City. Find the last of their people. He helped create the body of the threat. He cannot fight the battle with you, but he will have knowledge you may put to good use. Now be gone from our sight!" _

###

When Creepy Guy returned to his cell again, Gerard knew something was very wrong. There was a crazier look in the man's eye than usual and big clumps of dirt were matted in his already greasy hair. He looked very much like he'd only just avoided a fight. Still, the only thing he directed at Gerard was that annoying smarmy smile.

"Hello pet," he greeted the boy. "I've got something exciting to tell you."

Gerard did not look up. Instead, he hid his eyes behind his long fringe of dirty brown hair and hunched his shoulders, curling in on himself. "Cold," he complained.

"Well you won't be here for much longer," the man told him cheerfully, stroking his hair. "We're leaving soon, going back home to North City. Won't that be nice?"

Gerard's stomach lurched. North City? Creepy wanted to take him to North City? This was bad. Of course, his life had been pretty bad for days now, but it looked like it was about to get a hell of a lot worse. "North City's not my home," he said carefully. "East is."

"Well, then North City will be your new home," Creepy said, still cheerful. But Gerard had heard the irritation in his voice. Creepy had been relaxed up until now, constantly cheerful no matter how uncooperative Gerard was being. He had seemed thrilled when the Gerard started talking to him, but now, one little sentence had him on edge. What could be wrong? Was the man scared of something? Was that why he wanted to leave East?

For a second the boy let himself hope that it was because people were looking for him, but he knew that was unlikely. The only people who'd have missed him were his mother and possibly, his gang, but it was more likely that they'd just found someone else to fill the empty place in the gang. As for his mom, even if she'd told the police he was missing it wouldn't do much good. They already had more than enough work to do to bother about one missing gang kid.

No, Gerard admitted to himself, no one would come looking for Creepy Guy because he was missing. That meant that Creepy might've got himself noticed by the cops for something different. If they were asking questions now, the alchemist probably wanted to get out of East before they asked even more questions and found out about Gerard.

This, the boy realised, was a stroke of luck. If the jerk wanted to get out of East fast, then the best way would be to hitch a ride on one of the freight trains and it wasn't like he could walk around a loading yard with a boy in chains. East City PD might not be the sharpest knives in the drawer, but even they would notice something wrong there.

Of course there were other problems to deal with. For a start, Creepy had a gun. He knew that, he'd seen the bulge of it in the man's pocket. The alchemist was probably going to rely on that to make him behave. So, Gerard decided, best to keep up with the obedient slave routine. The more relaxed Creepy was, the easier it would be to shove his knife in the nutcase when he wasn't expecting it.

A rattle, followed by a satisfied "Aha!" made the boy look up. While he'd been thinking and planning, Creepy had been searching in his pockets for something. He'd eventually found it and now held a large set of keys in his hand. As Gerard watched, the man knelt down and unlocked the chain trapping his leg. As soon as it was off, the boy couldn't help giving a sigh of relief and rubbing at the reddened skin around his ankle.

"Thank you," he told the man who'd kidnapped him and chained him up in the first place. Creepy Guy smiled and ruffled his hair. While Gerard resisted the urge to vomit, he noticed that the man was carrying a rucksack with paper poking out of the holes in the top. He didn't have time to wonder what was in it that was so important, as the alchemist grabbed his hand and pulled him roughly out the door and away from the cell where he'd expected to die.

###

Sakura dug. At first, frantically with bare hands. Then sharp rock scratched and sliced at her, the sudden stinging sensation cutting through the panicked automatic response. So she stopped and drew her knives instead, scratching a quick array in the ground and activating it. The dark tunnel flared with blue light and the fallen stones melted away, slowly becoming a flow of sand.

As the reaction finished and she found herself knee-deep in sand, Sakura looked around quickly for any sign of the nameless alchemist. For a moment she could see nothing in the grey sand that now covered the tunnel. Then she spotted the toes of a filthy military-issue boot sticking up through the sand in the corner of the tunnel.

"Sparky?" she called as she rushed over and began to dig through the sand. "Sparky? Can you hear me?"

Sakura leaned forward hopefully as her hands hit cloth. There was a 'crack' sound as her forehead hit the soldier's just as his top half erupted from the sand. She staggered backwards and fell on her backside with a thump. Sparky, for his part, simply flopped back onto the pile of sand he was lying in with a small groan.

"Ugh!" he coughed, and then sat up again, spitting sand. "Oh, yeuch, pbbth," he spat. "What the hell happened?" he asked her with a dazed look.

She stared at him. The man had been attacked by a rabid chimera and buried under a collapsing wall. By rights, he should have been an extremely mangled corpse. But apart from the nasty looking bruise forming on his forehead, which she suspected was going to match the one on her own, there wasn't a scratch on him. Even his hair, which had been liberally covered in sewer slime, was clean. _Who is this man? _She wondered. _No one could've survived that unscathed. What is he?_

"I think that perhaps I should be the one asking you that," Sakura said in a neutral tone, watching him carefully. "How is it that you managed to avoid injury?"

For a moment Sakura saw a look of deep anger on his face, but just as suddenly as it had appeared it was gone. "Dunno," he said, getting to his feet with a sheepish grin. "You okay?"

She blinked at the rapid change from furious soldier to apparent dork. "Oh no," Sakura said firmly as she collected her knives, "I am not falling for that. You were buried under a pile of rubble. You should be seriously wounded or dead. Yet there isn't a single scratch on you. Explain. Now, if you please."

"I don't know, luck?" he suggested with a shrug.

Sakura pointedly drew one of her knives and began toss it in the air.

The man sighed. "Okay then, if you really want to know. . ."

"Yes?"

"I'm being kept alive by a powerful spirit which controls all alchemy and needs me to fight some kind of un-dead monster for it, as it is not of this world and needs a human avatar to do it's dirty work. Oh, and I'm also actually a time traveller from twelve years in the future."

The thrown knife barely missed his ear.

"Or, I don't know, luck," Sparky repeated, waving his hands in a placating gesture. "Really, I d-. . ." he trailed off, flexing his right arm experimentally.

Sakura had spent the last two days using her alkahestry to speed up the healing of that particular arm, so she quickly realised the reason for the surprise on the dark-eyed soldier's face.

"Arm feeling better?" she asked suspiciously.

"Yes," he replied in a distracted voice, still flexing the formerly injured limb. "Actually it is. Not even a twinge. That's . . . interesting."

She surveyed him carefully. "You really don't know why you're not injured, do you?"

Sparky shrugged again, shooting one his annoyingly charming smiles at her. "I guess someone up there thinks I'll do a better job if I'm all in one piece."

"An all-powerful spirit which controls alchemy?" she said sceptically.

"Maybe," he replied, shrugging again. "Come on. We should keep going. That chimera was probably Kreiner's main work. He must be very close."

###

Roy groaned in pain. His head felt as if someone had decided drive a car in one ear and out the other. He thought he could hear someone talking to him, but their voice was vague and far away.

"Ughhn," he said. "Go 'way Hughes. Feel like shit."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do," said the voice as it became somewhat clearer. "I dunno who Hughes is, but I ain't him, Major. C'mon, up and at 'em."

"Go 'way?" Roy asked hopefully, squinting up at the blur which was the source of the voice.

"No," the voice replied. "C'mon kid, get up. What the hell's wrong with you anyway? Thought I was the one who got a bang on the head."

Roy squinted again and then focused on the man pulling him into a sitting position. He was tall, in his early thirties and had fair hair. There was a deep cut on his brow, but it seemed to a have stopped bleeding. Memory banged on the door to Roy's brain.

"Collins?"

"Yeah, that's me," the man replied with obvious relief. "How are you feeling? One minute you were fine and the next, whump, out like a light. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two fingers and one thumb," Roy replied. "Give me a hand? I think I can get up now."

Collins let go of him and stood up, then held out his hand for Roy to grab and pulled the younger man to his feet. "Okay now?" he asked.

"Yeah," Roy told him. "I guess I must've got hit and didn't notice it."

"I. . . s'pose that makes sense," the police officer agreed. "Anyway, things have been happening while you were having a nap."

"What things?"

Collins ran a hand through his hair. "I don't really know," he admitted. "While you were out cold, I could hear that thing, growling nearby. Not right next to us, but pretty close. And then there was a lot of noise, like small bangs and people shouting. At least two I think. I think someone else is down here looking for Kreiner, because whoever it was attacked the monster. The bastard wouldn't attack his own creation, would he?"

"I doubt it," Roy agreed. "Go on."

"Well," Collins continued, "things went quiet for about a second and then there was this roar followed by a god-awful crash. I think the monster's dead and . . . I think there might have been a cave in. We might be trapped."

_"Crap," _said Ed, finally deciding to make a reappearance.


	21. Converge

Deep within Mustang's mind, Envy raged. He knew something important had just happened, but he couldn't work out what it was. The only thing he had felt when the sewer walls had collapsed on his host was an inky black darkness dragging him deeper into the recesses of what the human deigned to call his mind.

When awareness had returned to him, Envy had realised at once that something was different. Before, all of Mustang's thoughts had been clear and easy to read. Now, they were muffled somehow, as if he was listening to someone on the other side of a wall. Worse, the mental crack that Envy had created in the Flame Alchemist's mind, that allowed him to influence the man's actions, was gone. Mustang's mind had once again become Envy's mental prison.

Mustang's sudden recovery and avoidance of serious injuries was also of interest to Envy, but of even more importance to the homunculus was the fact that Mustang had put himself in the position to be buried by a collapsing wall in the first place. Before that event, Envy hadn't really cared if the alchemist was injured or not. In fact he'd whiled away some of his boredom by enjoying the sight of the pain the man had been in. But now he realised he'd overlooked something: if Mustang did something stupid and got himself killed, he'd take Envy with him.

This weakness did _not_ please the homunculus. Compared to his old body, the one which his host possessed was horribly frail. It could be damaged in so many different ways and was much less efficient and powerful. Hell, if it lacked sufficient food and sleep, it would immediately start slowly breaking down. _When was the last time Mustang slept anyway? _Envy wondered to himself. _Humans are supposed to get eight hours every day, right? And food, what is it, two, three meals a day? Didn't Pride used to go on about how his wife said breakfast was really important? You better stay healthy you damn human!_ the homunculus cursed. _I need you alive until I figure out how to get a better body._

Mustang gave no reply. But then, Envy didn't really expect one. He just hoped the human would subconsciously pay attention to his instructions. He probably would, Envy figured. After all, the man was all geared up to go saving the pipsqueak and his tin can brother, not to mention he seemingly intended to defeat all the homunculi and Danté all on his own. Surely he realised he'd need to keep his body in top condition if he wanted to go doing that?

As that thought occurred to him, Envy began to wonder exactly how much Mustang knew about Danté. Oh sure, the Elrics had let him in on the fact that the Fuhrer was a homunculus and the man had promptly rushed off to incinerate Pride . . . but that didn't mean he knew that Wrath had been taking orders from someone else. Unless Pride had let something slip during his fight with Mustang, it was entirely possible that Mustang was unaware of Danté's involvement.

Of course, Envy allowed reluctantly, credit where credit was due, the Flame Alchemist was an intelligent bastard, not to mention a highly skilled state alchemist. He had to know that in order for a homunculus to exist, an alchemist had to create them. Still, though he might know that someone was behind Bradley's creation, it was very unlikely that the Elrics had told him who. If Envy remembered correctly, even the pipsqueak hadn't known for sure until that glorious night in the underground city when Envy had at last been able to kill him. _For all of three freaking minutes, _he thought in annoyance._ Blasted tin can!_

That meant that there was almost no way Mustang would suspect Danté, especially since, if Envy recalled correctly, she was currently doing her 'sweet old lady' act in the old mansion near Dublith. All useful information, Envy conceded, but not exactly applicable to his current situation. So the homunculus filed that line of thought away for further consideration. He had a feeling it might come in handy.

###

As he made his way through the sewers of East City, half-dragging his captive behind him, Gerhardt Kreiner felt a flicker of unease work its way down his spine. Some time earlier, quite soon after he had discovered the charred remains of his chimeras and dispatched Ursus to deal with the interlopers, there had been a loud boom, and the unmistakeable sound of falling stonework had echoed through the dark tunnels.

Kreiner was well aware that the state of repair of many of the sewer tunnels left a lot to be desired. A cave in, especially after a fight between military soldiers with some kind of fire weapon and his most powerful chimera, was entirely possible. As confident as he was in his creation's superiority, Kreiner still couldn't quite squash the sliver of unease. His chimera was strong, powerful, and had a very powerful kind of single-minded determination when it came to obeying orders, but the beast was _not_ invulnerable.

Whether or not Ursus had survived his confrontation with the interlopers, it was a ninety-nine percent certainty that they at least had perished. While it grieved him that he did not have the time to search for Ursus and make sure that his greatest creation was still functional, Kreiner took solace in the fact

that the idiots who had been so unwise as to challenge his superiority had no doubt suffered a bloody and painful death.

Still, the Animal Alchemist was felt uneasy and the weight of the gun in his pocket wasn't as comforting as it used to be. Kreiner had the nagging feeling that something was out of place, not to mention the fact that he felt as if someone was following him. He paused once again to listen for the sounds of any pursuers and the boy bumped into his back, bewildered by the sudden expected stop. Moments passed, but there was nothing but the sound of his own harsh breathing and the quiet splattering sound of the boy trying to stay on his feet in the slippery tunnel.

Reassured, Kreiner grabbed the boy by the collar of his filthy shirt and pulled him onwards. "Not long now pet," he cooed. "We'll be out of here soon."

"He certainly will be," a voice behind them said suddenly. "You however, are going to rot down here, Animal."

Kreiner's his free hand automatically reaching for his gun, but instead of turning to face the newcomer, he gripped the boy tight and dragged him down the passage way, firing shots point blank over his shoulder. Or at least, he attempted to. Before he'd managed to go more than a few steps, Kreiner felt something jagged and sharp bite into his hand. He loosened his grip on the boy in surprise and the child seized the advantage, jerking himself free and disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel.

As Kreiner howled in rage, a bullet whistled over his head. "Drop your gun!" another voice ordered. "Surrender!"

_No, I don't think so, _the Animal Alchemist thought as he dived to the side, sheltering behind one of the tunnel supports. _I'd rather kill you and recover my subject instead!_

"Gerhardt Kreiner," the first voice announced, "your arrest has been ordered by the state. Surrender now." The statement was accompanied by the sound of someone snapping their fingers and then a burst of flame illuminated the tunnel, giving Kreiner a good look at his attackers. One was clearly a member of East City PD, his navy-blue uniform soiled by sewer slime and mud. It was the other that surprised Kreiner. The quick glance that Kreiner had gotten had been of a dark-haired young man, barely more than a boy really, in the familiar royal blue of Amestris' military, with a major's stripes on his shoulder and an extremely familiar silver chain hanging from his belt.

Kreiner let loose another bullet. As his opponents dived for the scant cover provided by support struts at the corners of the tunnel, he drew back behind his meagre defence, thinking quickly. The silver chain was unmistakeable. That boy, who didn't even look old enough to shave, was a State Alchemist. More to the point, _he_ was the one creating the fire which had destroyed nearly all of Kreiner's chimeras. When he'd first seen the damage done, Kreiner had theorized that it was caused by several soldiers with some sort of fire-arm. _Heh, fire-arm is right_, he thought hysterically. _That __**boy**__ is a State Alchemist! And he's successfully manipulating a combustible reaction. He's actually __**controlling**__ the flames! That's impossible!_

Kreiner was jerked out of his thoughts as the soldier and police officer returned fire and a ricocheting bullet buried itself in the wall beside his head. Drawing his gun again, he fired back. A loud grunt of pain from the other end of the tunnel told him that his bullet had found one of his targets.

###

When the burning sensation erupted in his side, Collins knew immediately that he'd been shot. He'd felt like this before, back when he was a kid trying to work his way out of the life that everybody he knew had expected of him to have.

Trevor Collins hadn't wanted to spend his life as one of the enforcers in just another street gang. He'd wanted out of the slums of East City and into the nice neighbourhoods, where people lived in clean houses, with gardens and didn't have to steal to feed their kids. So he'd stayed in school, and unlike his friends, who couldn't wait to get out and start making a street name for themselves, he'd learned as much as he could from the old school master, until the man had finally admitted there was nothing left that he hadn't already taught the determined boy and forcibly run him out of the tiny classroom with a yelled order to find a job.

Naturally, this determination to rise out of what the gang leaders considered a dumb slum kid's natural place in life had earned him enemies. Mostly former friends, who took his decision to join ECPD as a personal betrayal. Collins hadn't been on the job even a week when a boy he'd once considered a sort of younger brother had broken into his flat and started to ransack the place. When Collins had arrived home and caught him in the act, the boy had drawn a gun. Collins had reacted on instinct, immediately drawing his own firearm. The end result had been a dead friend's blood staining the floor of his home and a painful, panicked run to the hospital to have the bullet removed from his shoulder.

Now, as he collapsed in the slime of the sewer, Collins was reminded of that boy. Of the way he had just dropped, his blood pooling beneath him and spreading across the floor, the way, after much effort with every single cleaning product he could find, Collins had given up trying to wash the dirty brown stain from the floor and walked down stairs to inform the landlady he was moving out.

Then Major Mustang was suddenly standing over him. There was the sound of a snap and even more pain erupted in Collins' side. Then the Major was hauling him to his feet, one gloved hand outstretched and snapping, creating flames that billowed and flickered, presumable obscuring Kreiner's view of them. "Get up," the kid ordered. "It's just a scratch, get up."

Collins grunted painfully and pressed a hand to his side as he steadied his feet. To his surprise, he found that the Major's unconvincing reassuring words were correct. There was barely any blood, and his skin felt raw and burned. . . Collins' eyes widened at the realisation.

"You. . . burned . . me," he rasped as the heat in the tunnel dried up his throat.

"Had to cauterize the wound," Major Mustang replied matter-of-factly as he continued to produce flame after flame. Collins' noticed a sheen of sweat on the kid's brow and wondered whether it was from the heat, or the constant activation of the blood-red circle taking its toll on the young alchemist. "Can you walk on your own now?" he was asked.

" Yeah. What . . .are you planning?" Collins asked.

"Going to bring that bastard in," the kid said with a shrug. "But you could die if you don't get out of here."

"Can't leave you. . . here."

"Yes you can," the Major disagreed. "I'm giving you a direct order. Start running. Get back to Havoc and get help. I'll be right behind you. I just have to bring this bastard in first. Now go!"

Collins ran.

###

Roy kept up the blinding plumes of flame until he was sure Collins had turned the corner that was yards behind then. Then he ducked back behind the stone support and checked his gun. His heart sank as he realised the chamber was nearly empty. He had two shots left. Getting a clear enough shot on Kreiner to disable him would be next to impossible, not to mention the constant exertion from repeated transmutations was beginning to cause a familiar pounding ache at his temple.

"_You could, y'know. . . just snap," _Ed suggested. The words were slow and hesitant, as he couldn't quite believe he was suggesting it.

_That might kill him,_ Roy replied. _I was told to bring him in._

"_Dead or alive," _Ed reminded him, but his reluctant tone belied his words.

_Yes, but . . . I've never used my alchemy to kill anyone before. I don't want to if I don't have to._

There was brief silence, then _"No. Of course not. I'm sorry, I'm just worried that if you don't take him out, then he might take you out."_

_He won't, _Roy said firmly. _I won't lose to this bastard._

"_Duck!" _Ed screamed in reply.

Roy dived forward just in time. As he landed face first in the slow flow of sewage, he felt the heat on his scalp as a bullet whistle through his hair. Putrid liquid soaked through his clothes and as he tried to get back on his feet, Roy realised with horror that he'd lost his grip on his gun. Worse, a sharp pain in his leg told him it was injured. Running away was impossible and an insane victorious laugh let Roy know that Kreiner knew his opponent was now unarmed.

Kreiner laughed wildly as he advanced, the gun in his hand waving from side to side. "You can't kill me boy!" he cried contemptuously as Roy tried to crawl away. "I am the Animal Alchemist. My creations are paramount to the safety of this country!"

"You're insane," Roy choked back at him, the dry heat in the tunnel stinging his throat. "You've been using humans to create your chimeras."

"But of course Major," Kreiner replied. "After all, I want to the best result don't I? Human materials are integral to that."

"You can't do that!" Roy yelled. "Those are people, you can't treat them as if they were animals! You're a maniac!"

Kreiner laughed again, a crazy inhuman cackle pouring from his throat. "Don't you know boy?" he asked the younger alchemist. "Humans _are_ animals! The only difference between us and the rest of the animal kingdom is that we're so much better at coming up with ways to kill each other! I learned that back at that wretched base on the border. I only survived the attack by playing dead, you know. I saw what the Drachmans did to my comrades, when they realised some of them were still alive. The shot them, cut them, ripped them apart! But not me! I was clever! I hid! Hid and learned! I saw the truth! My chimeras were imperfect because they weren't vicious enough. They failed to protect us! But not this time! My new chimeras will be perfect! Part of their components will be the most vicious animal of all! Humans!"

Kreiner let out another high pitched cackle and spoke again. "My latest efforts have been my most successful yet, but there is still more that could be done with better test subjects."

"Your test subjects are people! You're murdering them!" Roy yelled at him.

Kreiner didn't seem to be paying attention to the young alchemist's words. Instead he was surveying the weakened man with a critical eye. "Yess," he hissed to himself. "Surely that would be an excellent combination. You are perfect my boy."

"What?" Roy asked, faint horror beginning to steal over him. "What are you talking about?"

"The most perfect chimera that could ever be created," Kreiner said, mad light entering his eyes. "Ordinary humans have not worked. But to use an alchemist . . . yes, that would create a powerful beast."

"No," Roy choked as he tried to scrabble away from the man. "No no no. . ." Desperately, he snapped his fingers, willing the array to work. But it was no use. The dirty sewer water he'd fallen in had done its work. His gloves were soaked through, unable to produce a spark and completely useless.

Kreiner laughed. "Oh yes," he crowed triumphantly. "You, who had the gall to challenge me, shall be the first of my new creations. Perfect!" He reached out and caught the young alchemist by his collar, smirking in amusement when the young man's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed into Kreiner's grip. The Animal Alchemist held him up for a moment and then let him drop to the ground

Seconds later Kreiner blinked in surprise and stumbled backwards as the fallen alchemist suddenly sprang to his feet. "Oh this is just freakin' weird!" the young man exclaimed, his voice oddly different. "Still, better than nothing." Then he turned to look at Kreiner and the Animal Alchemist stared back at him in wonder. There was a decidedly feral grin on his face and the young man's eyes, which had previously been so deeply blue as to look black, were now the colour of burnished gold.

Gerhardt Kreiner backed away, gun still at the ready. The dark-haired young alchemist narrowed his now brilliant yellow eyes at Kreiner and then smirked at him. Kreiner raised the gun and yelled at the boy to stay back. The yellow-eyed man smiled brightly at the Animal Alchemist. Then he clapped his hands.

###

When he awoke, Roy found himself lying on the tunnel floor. He coughed and pushed himself onto his knees as his head slowly cleared. He still felt dizzy and his vision was blurred. By the feel of it, he'd taken a hit to the back of the head. Distantly, he noticed that his gloves seemed to have dried out.

A sound at the edge of the tunnel caught Roy's attention. A figure dressed in grey and black was standing in front of a portion of wall which looked like it had been melted and twisted around the prone figure of Gerhardt Kreiner. Through clouded eyes, he watched warily as the figure approached and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. He knew it wasn't Kreiner, but neither did it seem to be Lieutenant Collins. Roy's fingers started to snap reflexively, but before his gloves could throw off a spark, the figure grabbed his hands firmly and held his fingers apart.

"Please don't do that," an oddly familiar voice said. "I really don't want to add another burn to my collection."

The Flame Alchemist's vision had cleared almost completely now and he caught a glimpse of the face of the man who was holding his hands in an iron grip. In his head, Ed let out a shocked gasp.

Roy stared in amazement at the man in front of him. An older version of his own face looked back at him, a gentle smirk curving its lips.

"Hi there kid."


	22. Death

As he stared at the man in front of him, Roy could feel his own shock combining with that of his incorporeal passenger. The sheer overwhelming force of it swamped his mind, causing Roy to accidentally verbalise the Fullmetal Alchemist's amazed mental yell.

"Colonel _Shit?_"

Whatever it was the man had expected him to say, Roy could tell that was not it. "You- _What_?"

"I uh, you, what the hell?" Roy stammered back, staring at man who looked just like him. Pulling himself together quickly, the young Flame Alchemist jerked his hand free and held it up to the other man's face, fingers poised to snap. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, trying in vain to keep his voice steady.

"Whoa, kid," the man said in Roy's own voice, "don't panic now. I'm not going to hurt you." He held up his hands placatingly and Roy noticed the man was wearing gloves extremely similar to his own.

"Who are you?" he asked again. "What are you doing down here? Why- why do you look like me?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly as he finished, the stress and exertions of the past half an hour beginning to take its toll. He could feel himself beginning to shake.

"That's . . . kind of a complicated question," the lookalike hedged. "I'm not sure you would believe me."

"Tell me who you _are_," Roy demanded. "I'll decide whether I believe you or not."

"Kid. . ." the older man said carefully, a concerned look appearing on his face, "maybe you should sit down? You look like you're about to drop."

"D-Don't tell me what to do!" Roy snapped, hating the fact that his lookalike was right. He wasn't used to having to transmute so much in such a short space of time. Not only was his eyesight beginning to blur again, the weak pounding in his temple had stepped up in tempo and now it felt like someone was repeatedly hitting his head with a small hammer.

_"Roy . . . it's okay," _Ed said blankly, finally appearing beside him with a shocked expression painted across his features. _"I don't know how, but . . . that's the Colonel. The you that I know."_

"That's Brigadier General to you, FullMetal," the apparent Colonel Mustang snapped automatically. "I was promoted, remember?"

_"Yeah, for all of five minutes," _Ed snarked back. _"And anyway, didn't you get demoted after you incinerated the Fuhrer? Pretty sure Al said you got demoted. When he was looking for me, he had to go all the way up to that ice box on the Drachman border to find you."_

"Petty details," Possibly-Roy's-older-self declared, waving his hand dismissively. Then he blinked as if an important detail had sunk in. "Wait a minute. . . _Fullmetal? _What the hell are _you_ doing here? And why are you see-through?" He turned back to Roy, completely ignoring the fact that the young man was still holding up a gloved hand, ready to snap. "He is there, isn't he? And see-through? I'm not just hallucinating, right?"

"Um. . . I-I don't think so," the bewildered young Major stammered, finally lowering his hand. "Not unless we're both hallucinating."

"Good," his lookalike replied. "In that case, back to my earlier question: What the hell are you doing here Fullmetal? And why are you see-through?"

"_I could ask you the same Mustang," _Ed snapped. _"Uh, minus the see-through part. You appear to be pretty damn solid."_

A choking noise from Roy interrupted their bickering and Ed cast a look of concern at the young Flame Alchemist. _"Hey, are you okay?"_

Roy ignored him, focusing completely on his older doppelganger, something Ed had said so flippantly earlier having finally gotten his attention. "You- you torched the _Fuhrer_?"

"Believe me," the other man replied, an undercurrent of pain in his voice, "I was completely justified."

"_Oh nice going Mustang," _Ed said sarcastically. _"I've been trying to _avoid _giving him a nervous breakdown, just so you know."_

"Me?" Maybe-Older-Roy said indignantly. "You're the one who just announced that I killed Bradley. If anyone's responsible for a nervous breakdown, then it's you, Fullmetal."

_"_The Fuhrer . . ." Roy said faintly, sounding utterly lost. "The Fuhrer's dead? And _I _. . . You actually set fire to Fuhrer Bradley?" he asked the older alchemist again, still shocked at the thought.

"_Don't worry," _Ed said reassuringly. _"He deserved it. He was evil and crazy."_

"Not to mention a homunculus," Almost-Definitely-Roy's-Older-Self muttered, half to himself.

"A homunculus. . ." Roy repeated in disbelief. He turned to Ed. "Is he joking? He's gotta be joking."

Ed shook his head. _"I wish he was. But no, Bradley's a homunculus all right."_ Ed paused, noticing the nauseous panicked look on Roy's face. _"Don't worry. I won't let him harm you."_

"Oh, o-okay," Roy said, not feeling reassured at all. He'd met King Bradley at the State Alchemist Examinations and something about the man had given him a serious case of the creeps. He'd tried to ignore it, writing the feeling off as a combination of nerves and a Hughes-induced hangover, but apparently there was something to it after all.

As he tried to clear his head, Roy distantly noticed the odd look Possibly-Older-Him was giving Ed. When the golden-haired young man had promised Roy his protection, for a second there had been a shocked expression on the older man's face and now he was giving the incorporeal alchemist a considering look.

There was a brief silence as all three men just looked at each other. Then Older-Him, whom Roy decided to think of as Mustang, since that was what Ed called him, spoke.

"I think we can leave explanations for later," he said. "For now we have to sort out what to do about him." He nodded towards Kreiner, who was still trapped against the sewer wall.

"Uh, my orders were to arrest him," Roy said.

"No," Mustang disagreed. "We will not be handing an expert on dangerous illegal alchemy over to Bradley, thank you very much."

"Because he's a homunculus," Roy repeated weakly, as though if he said it enough times Ed and Mustang would turn around and say 'just kidding'.

"_Yep_," Ed answered blithely.

"Then what exactly do we suggest we do?"

Mustang cleared his throat. "Kreiner . . . happened to anger a certain someone who would very much like to have a word with him," he said delicately. "If we handed Kreiner to him. . . well, Bradley would not get his hands on him."

Roy swallowed uncomfortably. He knew that tone of voice. It was the one he himself used when he really didn't like what he had to say. "Who exactly do you mean?" He asked Mustang, knowing he didn't really want to hear the answer.

"Berthold George."

Roy went pale. Growing up in East City meant he knew exactly who Mustang was talking about. And from the look on Ed's face, he did too. _"As in. . . Mister George?" _the glowing spirit said. _"This guy pissed off The Old Lion?"_

"Rather efficiently," Mustang confirmed.

"So instead of obeying my orders, you're suggesting we should hand him over to the crime lord who will almost certainly torture him to death instead?" Roy asked disbelievingly, his voice cracking again. "How is that better than handing him to Fuhrer Bradley?"

"He would've been executed for his crimes anyway," Mustang pointed out quietly. "Except the Fuhrer's a homunculus and he'll just fake the man's death and let him start experimenting with human chimeras again."

"So you're suggesting that we hand him over to the crime lord who will slowly torture him to death instead!" Roy cried. "How is that right?"

Mustang sighed. "It isn't. Nothing about this situation is right. But we can't hand him back to Bradley."

"I know that," Roy muttered, looking pathetically at the sewer floor. "It's just. . ."

"I know," the older man agreed. "But what other choice. . ." His voice trailed off and when Roy looked up he found the older alchemist looking intently at him.

"What?" he demanded nervously.

"You have a service revolver, don't you?" Mustang asked quietly.

"Yes but what's that got to. . ." Now it was Roy's turn for his voice to trail off. "No," he said, swallowing nervously. "I can't! He can't even fight back! It'd be murder!"

"No," Mustang corrected him. "It would be a swift and painless death which is more than a child killer like him deserves."

"I can't!" Roy cried, panic leaking into his hoarse voice. "I can't!"

"I'm not asking you to," Mustang replied. "Give me the gun."

"No," Roy shook his head. "I c-can't."

"Roy," Mustang said slowly. "If you don't give me the gun, I'll have to use my gloves. That would be worse. You know it would."

Roy's stomach dropped. He had scorched a couple of attackers with his gloves before now, but he'd never had to use them to kill someone. He knew the effect fire had on living tissue. It would be a quick death, but a horribly painful one. Slowly, he drew his service revolver and handed it to the older man.

"It- it'll be quick, won't it?" he stammered, looking Mustang for reassurance.

"Yes," Mustang replied. "He won't feel a thing. Go on now, get above ground and back to Havoc before he decides you've been gone too long and calls for help. Mr. George sent a partner with me, she'll probably have dropped Collins back to Havoc by now."

Roy hesitated, his eyes flickering from Mustang to the gun held in his hand.

"_Come on, Roy," _an echoey ethereal voice said gently. It was Ed, standing there in all his transparent glory. The spirit reached out and laid an insubstantial hand on Roy's shoulder. _"Let's go. The Colonel will take care of things here."_

"Doesn't this bother you at all Ed?" Roy demanded.

"_Of course it does,"_ Ed assured him, and Roy could literally feel the regret in his tone. _"But the Colonel's right. We can't arrest him, that would be like handing him to Bradley on a plate. Trust me, Bradley would just give him free reign to slaughter as many people as he wanted. We can't let him go free either. You know that. He'd just kill more people on his own too."_

"I know. I know that," Roy said. "I just wish. . ."

"_Yeah,"_ Ed agreed. _"Believe me, I wish that too. Come on, let's go. Mustang . . ." _

"Come to the back of Ivan's around seven," Mustang said. "I'll meet you there. Then we can all get an explanation. Ask for Sparky."

Roy swallowed and then nodded decisively, striding away from his older double and the unconscious Animal Alchemist, with Ed floating at his side.

When they were halfway back to the exit to the surface a shot rang out.

###

As he sat in the back room of Ivan's later that night and waited for his younger self to show up, Mustang shook his head for the thousandth time as he tried to come up with a reason why an incorporeal version of FullMetal was hanging around his twenty-year-old self. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure it had something to do with the Gate. The 'other' that the female manifestation had kept mentioning, that _must've_ been Ed. But how were his current circumstances a reward? He was see-through and apparently stuck floating around young Roy. Ed was more likely to consider that cruel and unusual punishment than a reward.

But the way Ed had spoken to the younger Flame Alchemist in the sewer, Mustang thought. That had been decidedly odd. _"Don't worry," _Ed had said._ "I won't let him harm you."_ His voice had been gentle, comforting and strong. It was a tone of voice Mustang had heard before, but never directed at him. Ed . . . had spoken to his younger self, in a tone Mustang had thought was reserved only for Alphonse. Surely Ed wasn't being the protective big brother towards young Roy?

A knock at the door jerked Mustang from his thoughts. Answering it, he found his younger self accompanied by Stig. The gray-haired man nodded to him once and left. Young Roy stood awkwardly in the doorway as if he was unsure what to do next.

Mustang sighed. "You might as well come in kid, we've got a lot of talking to do."

The boy nodded and made his way over to the desk and chair in the corner, dropping himself wearily onto the convenient seat. Mustang shut the door and then sank onto the side of the small bed with a sigh. Young Roy regarded him silently.

"Are you feeling better now?" Mustang asked carefully, feeling immensely relieved when the younger man nodded hesitantly.

"I told General Grumman that Lieutenant Collins must've got a lucky shot," young Roy said quietly. "You didn't leave Kreiner glued to the wall did you?"

"No," Mustang replied. "My partner dissolved it. Anyone who goes down there will think he was shot in the middle of the fight."

"Your partner. . . that's the woman who helped Collins get back aboveground, isn't it?"

"Yes, she works for Mr. George. He insisted on sending her with me when I went looking for Kreiner."

"_That's interesting,"_ Ed said, appearing so suddenly that Mustang flinched. _"But can we get on to getting an explanation of how the hell you're here?"_

"Excellent suggestion Fullmetal," Mustang agreed. "Why don't you start by explaining why appear to be a ghost?"

"Because he died," young Roy said, looking slightly confused that Mustang didn't know, as if the fact should be blatantly obvious.

"WHAT?" Mustang roared, turning his gaze on the glowing young man. "But you were fine! You went back to the other world with Alphonse! You were fine, everything was okay! What happened?" A million questions ran through the older man's head. What had happened to Ed? Had it been an accident, some sudden unpredictable twist of fate? Or had he finally lost in a fight? Had someone murdered Ed?

_"I got sick,"_ Ed said quietly, his matter-of-fact tone cutting through Mustang's whirling thoughts.

"What?" Mustang asked again, shocked into relative silence this time. Sick? Edward had died from an illness? He tried to fit the thought into his brain and couldn't. The FullMetal Alchemist was a fighter, an expert martial artist and alchemist who defeated homunculi in combat. He didn't get ill. He couldn't.

"_You remember Huskisson?" _Ed asked. _"The guy in the floating castle with the-"_

"Uranium bomb." Mustang finished in a dazed voice, still having trouble comprehending that Ed was no longer among the living. "Yes, but that was cleared up, what's that got to do with-"

_"Uranium is poisonous." _It was a simple statement. Just three words, but it explained everything.

"You came into contact with some in the other world," Mustang said slowly, desperately hoping that Ed would say no, stop glowing and become solid.

But Ed just nodded his head and Mustang's stomach dropped. _FullMetal_ was dead. Edward was _dead,_ had died in a sickbed. Mustang shook his head mutely, as if that would change everything back to normal.

_"When we cornered Huskisson in Amestris, he opened the Gate and he and his bomb got transferred to Germany where he met the Thule society. That's why they invaded our world. They were getting ready for a war and they thought there'd be weapons here that they could use."_ Ed paused briefly as if to catch a non-existent breath. _"When Al and I crossed over again we went searching for the bomb so we could disarm it. We found it in a lab. The scientists there didn't realise how dangerous it was and-"_

"You were exposed to it," Mustang finished for him. _"_I. . . I'm sorry Ed." The anger which had briefly dissipated upon Ed's explanation that he'd got sick roared again, the flames of rage bursting into life. Ed had been poisoned and it was Huskisson's fault. _That_ was murder. If Mustang ever got his hands on the greasy disfigured little physicist he'd-

_"Why?" _Ed asked blankly, interrupting his thoughts. "_Wasn't your fault." _

Mustang stared at the golden-lit young man. "Ed," he snapped. "You _died._ Do you honestly still think that I don't care about you?"

Roy, who was listening to the conversation between his insubstantial friend and the man who was apparently an older version of himself with great interest, grinned in amusement as the snarky wise-cracking spirit blushed, apparently highly embarrassed by the older man's declaration of affection.

_"Yeah, well, I died, I ended up at the gate, she sent me here. QED. How did _you _get here anyway?"_ Ed demanded, bulldozing through the awkward moment. _"You're definitely not dead. Discovered the secret of time travel, have you?"_

"No," Mustang replied testily. "As a matter of fact Fullmetal, I have you to thank for my current circumstances. It was in the process of cleaning up the mess you left behind that I arrived here."

_"Excuse me?"_ Ed said indignantly. _"What the hell's that supposed to mean Bastard?"_

"Isn't obvious Fullmetal?" he replied. "I was destroying the portal between worlds on our side and it blew up in my face. The original Gate was so grateful that she decided an appropriate reward would be to drop me twelve years into the past, a hundred yards from your six year old self."

"_She dropped you in Resembool?" _Ed asked in disbelief. _"Why would she do that?"_ He scowled. _"You better not have traumatised six year old me."_

"Of course not," Mustang snapped. "Unless you think giving a small lost child a piggyback home while you have an injured ankle counts as traumatising? I couldn't remember meeting the Gate at first, so I had no idea where I was or how I'd got there. If anyone was traumatised, it was me. I must have seemed like a damn lunatic. I'm just lucky Trisha was so understanding and willing to let me stay a few days until my leg healed."

_"You saw her?" _Ed whispered, the colour draining from his already pale face._ " You met Mom? How is she? Is she sick? What happened?" _he asked in a panic. Despite his lack of breath, Ed looked as if he was going to start hyperventilating.

"She seemed fine when I left," Mustang assured him gently. "I asked Doctor Rockbell to keep an eye on her."

_"Oh. Um, thanks," _Ed murmured as he stared at the ground. _"So," _he asked, quickly changing the subject, _"what happened to your head?"_

"I injured it," Mustang replied evasively, not wanting to discuss the embarrassing circumstances surrounding his bruised forehead.

_"No, really?"_ Ed said sarcastically, determined not to be deterred._ "How exactly?"_

"That's not important right now," Mustang declared, ignoring the further questions. "Now, we need to decide what we're going to do."


	23. Life

Berthold George, also known to the underbelly of East as the Old Lion, was once again staring into the fire that crackled and burned in the grate in his study. It helped him think, and today there had certainly been a lot to think about.

For one, the insane alchemist who had been decimating his people had been found dead with a bullet in his brain. The official police report listed Lieutenant Trevor Collins as the one who had fired the bullet and saved the city from someone who, emphasis on the next part to cover-up military stupidity, '_could've become a threat'._

Except that the gun that had been found, had not belonged to Collins, but to Major Roy Mustang. Of course he could've conceivably lent it to Collins for some reason, but unlike the military and the civilian police, Mr. George did not subscribe to that theory. Especially since he'd been informed by his knife-throwing assistant, that she had found Sparky standing next Kreiner's corpse with a smoking gun in his hand.

"So, what were your impressions of the two boys?" he asked Sakura, who was standing in the centre of the room, once again tossing a knife from hand to hand.

"Sorry old man," his best bodyguard replied. "I didn't get to see the two of them interact. Didn't see the kid at all. But. . ."

"Yes?" Mister George asked, indicating for Sakura continue.

She sighed and tossed her knife so that it spun in the air and then dropped, sticking out of the wooden floor point first, a clear sign that something was bothering her. "It's Sparky. Either he's insanely lucky or he's not human. A wall collapsed on top of him, and he walked away from it without a scratch. Even his hair was clean."

"Well, that is interesting," Mr. George conceded. "And if he is truly non-human? Then what is he?"

"There are a couple of possibilities," Sakura told him darkly. "Old man, he is meeting with the Flame-boy right now, you do know that?"

The little old man smiled. "Don't be bothered, it's nothing to worry about. We may even learn more about our mysterious friend from this opportunity. And in any case, young Roy knows how to take care of himself. Madame made sure of that."

Sakura grunted in acknowledgement of Madame's skills. Credit where credit was due, Sakura supposed. The lady did tend to raise survivors.

"As for our brave police hero, Trevor Collins, how is he doing?" Mr. George asked.

"He'll make a complete recovery, old man," Sakura reported.

Mr. George nodded. "Good. I like to keep my enemies where I can see them. The last thing we need is for a known good cop to die a martyr. It makes the higher-ups nervous. They start panicking and throwing around phrases like 'time to clean up this town,' and 'personally bring the heads of the gangs to justice'. It always gets messy."

###

Major Roy Mustang gulped down a small glass of water and then turned his attention back to the other men in the room. "Let me get this straight," he began, "this entire country is plunged constantly into civil war and ruled by an inhuman monster and his gang of freaks, in order to make people desperate enough to try creating the philosopher's stone . . . so that some old hag can _live a little longer?_"

"_Pretty much," _Ed confirmed.

"And when you found out about this," Roy pointed to Mustang, "you incinerated the Fuhrer."

"Yes, although I wasn't aware of this 'Danté'," Mustang replied. "_Somebody _neglected to mention her to me." He looked pointedly at the glowing young man sitting on the bed.

Ed scowled. "_Give me a break Mustang. How was I to know the old biddy had taken over Lyra? I thought Greed had killed her. And anyway you should count yourself lucky you didn't have to meet her."_ Ed paused and visibly shuddered in disgust. _"She was very, very creepy. Kept going on about the old Bastard all the time. It was sick."_

"The old Bastard?" Roy asked Mustang, getting the feeling that Ed wasn't talking about him.

"He's talking about his father," Mustang explained, with a resigned sigh. "Hohenheim and Fullmetal didn't exactly have a good relationship."

"Wait," Roy said incredulously, "you don't mean Hohenheim as in . . . Hohenheim of Light?" He looked at Ed in astonishment. "He's your father? He's one of the most-"

"_Brilliant alchemists ever," _Ed interrupted, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "_Yes, thank you, I am aware. That doesn't exclude him from being an old Bastard. He was stupid! He was so afraid of dying before Mom that he abandoned us to look for a cure. Then he comes back ten years later expecting everything to be the same. He was fine, SHE was dead and his stupid crazy girlfriend tried to kill my little brother and possess my friend because the last body she stole was dying! He was a bastard!" _

"She didn't try to kill you too?" Mustang asked calmly, once Ed had finished his rant.

"_No,"_ Ed answered, a disgusted look on his face, "_not at first. She'd given the old Bastard a free trip to the Gate, so she needed a replacement to obsess over and decided I was the perfect candidate. She seemed to think that if she possessed Rosé's body, I'd be in love with her." _He made a gagging noise. _"Except I said no of course and then she ordered Envy to kill me." _

There was a look of faint horror on Mustang's face as he listened to Ed speak. "You were _fifteen,_" he said in disgust. "Ed are you sure she-"

"_Yes," _Ed snapped waspishly. "_Like I said, she was freakin' creepy."_

"So. . . why _was_ she so obsessed with your fa- I mean, Hohenheim," Roy asked, changing his words hastily as he felt Ed's temper rise.

Ed went silent for a moment and Roy almost thought he wouldn't answer, but the blond man just sighed in resignation and then began to speak. _"Because they used to be lovers,"_ he explained. _"The first philosopher's stone, four-hundred years ago? He helped her make that. Except the effort weakened his body, almost killing him. In the heat of the moment, Danté grabbed the stone and used it to attach his soul to another man's body. That's when they discovered they could prolong their lives."_

"Wait," Mustang ordered, "your father was _helping _Danté and Bradley?"

"_No," _Ed shook his head, _"it gets complicated. See, once the Bastard had a new body he used the philosophers stone to make it age slower. I guess he was happy with what he got. Danté on the other hand, apparently switched bodies every time she found someone younger and more attractive than she was. Hohenheim didn't do that. He just made the one he had last longer. Eventually, he dumped her. Said he couldn't watch her steal other people's lives anymore. He told me once that Mom made him realise all life is precious."_

"That's good, isn't it?" Roy suggested tentatively.

"_Maybe," _Ed said grudgingly, _"but he didn't try to stop Danté from doing it."_

"Not until she tried to harm you and Al," Mustang pointed out carefully.

"_He still took his sweet time about it," _Ed retorted. _"And he managed to do exactly fuck all before she summoned the gate and let him be pulled into it."_

"What?" Mustang asked. "What do you mean she summoned the Gate? Fullmetal are you saying she could control it?"

"_She's a centuries old powerful alchemist and she had a philosopher's stone handy," _Ed pointed out. _"So yeah, she had a way to summon the Gate without losing bits in the process."_

"Losing bits?" Roy asked.

Ed tapped his metal arm. _"There's usually a price for seeing the gate while you're still alive,"_ he explained in a strained voice. _"Since it can only be done through committing a taboo. You get knowledge, but you also get punished. My brother and I did something forbidden. I lost my leg and had to give up an arm to bind his soul to a suit of armour so that he wouldn't die. Spent the next four years looking for a way to restore him."_

Roy could feel the guilt of the man who currently shared his head coming off him in waves. "What could you possibly have done that was so bad?" he breathed.

"_Human transmutation," _Ed said quietly._ "We tried to bring our mother back to life."_

"Human transmutation?" Roy gasped. "Were you insane?"

"_No, just young and stupid," _Ed snapped. _"You don't have to give me the big horrified speech. I almost got my brother killed, okay? I know how stupid I was. You moralising at me won't change anything." _With that, he vanished.

Mustang blinked. "Fullmetal? Where are you?"

_Ed?_ Roy asked silently. _Ed, come back!_

There was no answer, just a hurt silence. Roy got the message: Ed did not want to talk to him. He did feel a bit guilty, but really, human transmutation? How could Ed have done such a terrible thing? How could he not know that it was utterly forbidden?

"Roy?" a voice asked. The young major shook himself out of his thoughts and realised Mustang was looking inquisitively at him. It was a bit unnerving to be honest, to see that identical face and know that was exactly what he'd look like in twelve years.

"Um, I don't think he wants to talk to me right now," he explained. "Human transmutation, though . . . I would never have thought it of him. What stupid things alchemists do to prove their power."

Mustang folded his arms and gave Roy a calm, steady look. The young major swallowed nervously. He hadn't realised how intimidating his own face could be. The look Mustang was giving him was making him feel as if he were three inches tall. It said, quite clearly : _You have no idea what you're talking about, you young idiot. Feel ashamed._

"Did Ed tell you at what age he became a State Alchemist?" Mustang asked, his voice cold and flat.

"He said . . . twelve," Roy remembered, going pale as the implications became clear. "But that means. . . Oh no."

"Yes," Mustang said. "Ed was eleven and his brother Al was ten when they tried to resurrect their mother." He looked seriously at Roy, who was feeling smaller by the second. "It was never about trying to prove superiority by achieving the impossible or any foolish reason a grown alchemist would have. They were just children who missed their mother and wanted her back."

"Children smart enough to attempt human transmutation?" Roy asked, not quite believing it.

Mustang shrugged. "As you pointed out, these are the sons of Hohenheim of Light we're talking about. They are prodigies in their own right. Unfortunately there was no one around who could have realised what they were planning. After Trisha died, their guardian was their best friend's grandmother. The old woman is a right battle-axe, but she's an automail mechanic, not an alchemist. And I . . . I was just too late."

"Too late? What do you mean?"

The older man sighed, regret written all over his face. "I had been given an assignment to look for Hohenheim of Light and request that he use his considerable power to assist the military. All paperwork regarding him came across my desk, including a letter Ed had written to one of Hohenheim's acquaintances while his mother was sick. It was short, just asking if the man knew where Hohenheim was, and if so could he ask him to come home. I figured if Hohenheim had family, then Resembool would be a good place to start looking for him."

"So you reached Resembool after they'd already tried to bring their mother back?"

Old frustration and helplessness came back to Mustang. "I was one day late," he half-snarled. "One day earlier and I could have stopped them. I could've saved them. But no, I thought it was a long-shot and decided to stay in Central another day before heading to Resembool. All I could do then was suggest that if Ed became a State Alchemist they might be able to find a way to restore themselves."

"You recruited an eleven-year-old?" Roy asked, disgust edging into his words. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I _expected_ him to take the required three years for automail recovery and adjustment," Mustang said coldly. "I did not expect to see Ed again until he was at least fifteen. Unfortunately I underestimated his sheer determination. He recovered in one year and walked into Central as if he'd never been injured. After that it was necessary to sponsor him for the exam before anyone else could get wind of him."

"Right," Roy scowled, "because it would be a shame if you didn't get credit for discovering him."

"No, you idiot" his older self said, "because if I didn't sponsor him, he'd find someone else who would and that someone would just use him instead of helping him. His brother would never have been restored. Al was a soul sealed to a suit of armour, for god's sake. Someone like Basque Grand or that twit Hakuro would have told Bradley in an instant just to earn a promotion and Al would have ended up in a lab as an experiment. God knows what would've happened to Ed!"

Roy squirmed under Mustang's gaze, feeling like a complete moron. This man was him, or who he was going to be. Of course he wouldn't just use Ed for his own gain. As that thought occurred to him, Roy realised something. "It must have been hard as hell to cover up the fact that his brother was a suit of armour."

"Your point?" Mustang asked, his voice still icy.

"Well," Roy said carefully, not wanting to see his own face glare at him again, "you would've had to go to a lot of trouble to help them."

"I pride myself on protecting all my subordinates," Mustang said smoothly, not giving anything away.

"But his brother wasn't actually in the military. Not one of your subordinates, which means you protected him, well, I presume because it was the right thing to do, but also because it would ease the pressure on Ed. Which means you're fond of him . . . but you didn't let him know it. He did seem pretty surprised at your little outburst earlier. Not to mention he has a tendency to refer to you as Colonel Bastard." Roy narrowed his eyes. "Exactly how much do you care about Ed?"

Mustang narrowed his eyes right back. "Is he listening right now? I presume you can tell, you appear to have some sort of weird mental bond."

Roy shut his eyes briefly. He gave a mental poke at the corner of his mind containing Ed and got the unmistakeable impression of a locked door. He had a feeling that meant Ed was temporarily uninterested in anything either of them had to say and said this to Mustang. The other man snorted and shook his head.

"Well?" Roy prompted.

"He's like an annoying little brother," Mustang muttered in irritation. "Annoying, but still family. And. . . besides," he added more quietly, "Hughes intended to adopt both Ed and Al. He was the closest thing they had to a father for a long time. I have a duty to watch out for Ed, since Hughes isn't here."

"Heh, yeah that sounds like Maes. Always wants to adopt every stray he comes across," Roy said as a peace offering. "Funny though, Ed's more like an annoying older brother to me."

"Really?" Mustang asked curiously, in a much lighter tone, cocking an eyebrow at the younger man. "You. . . sure about that?"

"Oh yeah," Roy said. "Keeps giving me advice on how to do things. You know, 'Be careful and don't insult this guy'. Work with the police instead of just stealing their investigation."

"Well that explains why you and Collins got to the sewers so fast," Mustang said. "When I did that mission on my own, I pissed him off and spent hours up to my eyeballs in useless paper work." He shuddered. "Still though. . ."

"Oh there's more," Roy assured him. He pitched his voice in a decent impression of Ed and started to list off some more of the advice the blond tended to give him. "Don't drink anymore of that beer, you'll be ill, stupid. Don't sit that way on the train, Roy, your back will hurt later. Stop complaining, I warned you and you didn't listen. Get something to eat Roy, you're too skinny. That's not right, the bastard was never as thin as you. That sandwich isn't healthy, there's too much grease on it. Don't accept that cigarette, Roy, it'll do horrible things to your lungs."

Mustang stared and then began to laugh. "Oh good grief," he choked. "I know that side of Fullmetal. Unbelievable! He just can't help himself."

Roy blinked. "What? What can't he help?"

"Being an older brother," Mustang elaborated, waving a hand vaguely. "Fullmetal spent the better part of his life looking after Alphonse. He has perhaps the most finely honed 'elder sibling instincts' in the world. But now, Al isn't here and all that instinct has no place to go. So he's done what he always does. Find someone else to be a big brother to until he can get back to Al. Before it was Elysia," he paused and smiled sadly, " and poor Nina Tucker, but this time it's me, I mean, you. Fullmetal trying to look after me- you." And he burst into laughter again.

###

In a very small house in the slums of East City, a woman was sweeping her kitchen floor. Or at least, she was attempting to sweep the floor. But really, the aimlessness of her brush strokes meant that all she was doing was moving dirt around.

The woman was tall, with thick red hair and green eyes. Once she could have been pretty, but sleeplessness and worry had taken their toll. Her hair had turned lank, and was unwashed. Her formerly bright eyes were clouded and dull with misery. She hadn't bothered to wash in some time, so dirt clung to her skin. As she moved around the kitchen, the woman glanced at a small picture hung on the wall and began to weep for perhaps the thousandth time that week. Hot tears made wet tracks down her grimy face.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of someone behind her and turned quickly, raising her broom in defence. The filthy, foul-smelling boy who was climbing in the window-sill smiled at her, tears running down his face. "Hi Mom. I'm back. Did you miss me?"

"Gerard!"


	24. Friend

The morning after he'd spoken to his younger self and the incorporeal Fullmetal, Mustang was woken by the sunlight streaming in the window of the small back room at Ivan's. Wincing from the glare, he shoved himself out of bed and dressed in the brown corduroy pants and jacket that Stig had first provided for him. It wasn't as clean as his uniform, but that wasn't safe to wear around Ivan's and he'd burnt the grey clothes he'd worn into the sewer for hygiene's sake. The only apparel that had survived that experience relatively unscathed were his military boots, and even those had been scrubbed to within an inch of their leather life.

Making a mental note to acquire some better clothes, Mustang stepped outside to find Cecil and Knives once again guarding his door.

"Mornin', Sir," Knives greeted him politely as Mustang shut the back room door after himself. "Good to see you up an' about. 'Eard you a had a close shave yesterday. There's not many men that'd survive 'avin' a wall fall on 'em."

"Knives, Cecil," Mustang said, nodding to them. "I presume you are here because your employer would like a word with me, is that so?"

"That's right Sir," Knives confirmed. "If you'd follow me please?"

"Of course," Mustang agreed, the knife in his boot, gun in his pocket and both working ignition cloth gloves making feel a great deal more confident than the last time Knives had made this request.

As it had been last time, a car with tinted windows was waiting in the side alley next to Ivan's, with the man whose name Mustang remembered was Draper, sitting at the wheel.

"Congratulations on disposing of that sewer pest, if you don't mind my sayin' so Sir," Knives said as he opened the car door for Mustang and gestured for him to get in. "We'll all feel better now we know 'e's gone, eh Cecil?"

Cecil merely grunted as he sat himself on Mustang's other side, apparently not interested in talking.

"Oh don't mind 'im Sir," Knives whispered conspiratorially to Mustang as the driver started up the engine. "'e's in a mood at the moment. Girl troubles. You know 'ow it is."

"Ah, of course," Mustang commiserated quickly. Then he sat back and closed his eyes, hoping that would end the conversation. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear about what kind of girl troubles the human mountain that was Cecil had.

"Emm," Knives said, coughing slightly. "The Master 'as informed us that 'e doesn't mind if Sir know the directions to his 'ouse, so Sir may open 'is eyes if 'e wishes."

"Thank you Knives," Mustang replied. "That's good to know."

He opened his eyes just in time to catch Cecil sighing despondently as the car passed a flower shop and immediately wished he'd kept them closed. A despondent Cecil was not a sight that should be seen on an empty stomach. As the car rattled onwards and Cecil let out a louder sigh, Mustang cursed his over-active sense of curiosity.

"Problem, Cecil?" he enquired politely.

"It's my lady-friend," the human mountain volunteered, his gravelly voice again at odds with his curiously cultured way of speaking. "I regret to say, she is very upset with me at the moment Sir."

"Oh? Any particular reason?"

Cecil sighed again. "It was our second anniversary yesterday Sir." He coughed slightly. "That is to say, the anniversary of the first time we met. We are not yet married."

"I see," Mustang said, noticing the slight emphasis on the 'yet', while his mind boggled at the idea of the hairy, leather covered Cecil proposing to someone. "And was the lady not pleased with your anniversary gift?" he enquired.

Cecil's next sigh rattled the windows of the car. "Ah, there Sir, you have put your finger on the crux of the issue. I did not, in fact, acquire a gift for my lady-friend. I have been busy with work recently, what with all that business with Mr. Kreiner, and most unfortunately, the significance of yesterday's date slipped my mind. My lady-friend went to a lot of trouble to acquire a gift for me, so of course, she was deeply hurt to find out that I had not done the same."

"Ah," Mustang nodded understandingly. "That _is_ an unfortunate error."

"Mm," Cecil agreed. "My lady-friend has informed me that she wishes never to see me again." He looked at Mustang, a sudden hopeful expression on his face. "I don't suppose that Sir. . ." he trailed off.

"Yes?" Mustang prompted.

"Well," Cecil said carefully. "If you'll excuse me for saying so Sir, you strike me as the type of man who has . . . er, luck with the ladies, shall we say? If Sir has any advice, well, it would be greatly appreciated."

Mustang looked at Cecil. _A probable wanted criminal is asking me for dating tips,_ he thought, in something approaching amazement. But he couldn't not help the man. It would be like kicking a puppy. Albeit a vicious criminal puppy that had probably killed more than a few people with its bare hands.

Still, in the interest of self preservation, Mustang tried to get out of it. "I'm not sure I could give you any advice on your lady-friend Cecil. Every woman is different. What works for me may not work for you. I'm not exactly an expert on relationships." _And I wouldn't want you angry at me if it backfired._

"Well Sir," Cecil said, "If I may say so, you must be doing something right. Miss Sakura likes you." His tone made it clear that this was an incredible achievement.

"Cecil," Mustang replied, "that woman threw a knife at my head."

At this, Knives entered the conversation. "Yes Sir," he agreed, "but Miss Sakura didn't actually 'it you now did she?"

"Well, no."

Knives nodded happily. "There you go then Sir. She likes you."

It was Mustang's turn to sigh. "Alright Cecil," he began, "here's what you do. . ."

###

Roy groaned and stretched for the hundredth time as the train rattled it's way back to Central. _I hate train seats,_ he thought bitterly. _I hate them, I hate them, I hate them. When I'm a General train seats will have cushions on them. Really, really comfortable cushions. By order of the Major General Roy Mustang, yeah. . ._

"_Ooh! Aren't you ambitious," _said a sarcastic voice. _"General Mustang the cushion requisitioner. Yeah, that'll have your enemies trembling in fear."_

_Ed!_ Roy thought in relief. _You're speaking to me again! _

"_Yeah, well, I got bored,"_ Ed said flatly._ "Not as if there's anyone else around I can talk to, what with the Colonel staying in East for now. It was you or nothing." _

Roy swallowed. Ed was clearly still angry with him. This might be difficult. _Um, Ed . . . _he began.

"_What?"_ Ed snapped.

_I'm sorry. . . for saying what I did. It was wrong of me to judge you like that. I didn't know what I was talking about. I'd like. . . that is, I hope that. . .we could still . . ._

"_For God's sake Mustang, spit it out already," _Ed told him.

Roy swallowed again. He felt that being addressed as 'Mustang' as opposed to 'Roy' was a bad sign. After all, that was how Ed referred to his older self, and they had seemed to do nothing but snipe at each other. True, both had admitted to caring somewhat for the other, but when they were around each other all they did was bicker. He did not want to fight with Ed.

_Well,_ he started hesitantly. _I um, I was hoping that we could, well. . ._

"_What? We could what?" _Ed demanded, sounding furious. _"Get on with it Mustang!"_

_Be friends,_ Roy squeaked.

There was silence for a moment and then the air in front of Roy shimmered and Ed appeared in the seat opposite him. Roy looked at him hopefully.

"_Apology accepted Major Mustang,"_ Ed said formally, and Roy's stomach dropped. Then Ed grinned and stuck out his tongue. "_Of course we're friends. You are such a dork."_

Roy sagged in relief. "Good," he said aloud. "I'm glad. I'm really glad."

"_You are __**such **__a dork," _Ed repeated, shaking his head exasperatedly. _"But I like you anyway. And I can't believe I just said that."_

"Ouch. Am I really that bad?"

"_Uh, no," _Ed admitted, _"but the Colonel is and you're like, mini-Colonel. Technically I should hate you."_

"Yeah, but Ed, you don't hate him," Roy pointed out. "I mean, you say you do, but you don't, not really."

"_Oh yes?" _Ed said challengingly. "_You sure about that?"_

"Yes," Roy said. "This emotion-reading thing goes both ways, you know. I could tell when we talked to him. He irritates you, sure. But you don't hate him."

"_No offense Roy,"_ Ed disagreed, "_but I do hate the Bastard. Always have. Always will."_

"Then do you hate me?"

"_What?_ _No, of course not! Don't be stupid. You're not the Bastard."_

"I could call you short if you like," Roy offered. "Would that help?"

There was silence for a few moments as both young men regarded each other

"Or maybe not," Roy conceded.

"_Good call," _Ed said flatly.

"Look Ed, all I'm trying to say is that . . . well, you know older-me cares about you, right? He did come out and say so. And I know you're equally fond of him. I could feel it."

Ed seemed to deflate at that. "_Yeah, all right. So he's not really a bastard. I do know that. I mean, I did tell you he looked out for my brother and me. I'm grateful for that. I am."_ Ed paused thoughtfully and looked out the window at the rolling green hills that they were passing by. _"I guess it's easier for me to be grateful and stuff when he's not around. I just. . gah! It's hard to remember that I sort of care about the guy when he's standing in front of me being a jerk. I guess it's easier to hate him, like I did when I was a kid."_

Roy cocked his head. "But you don't hate me, right?"

"_Because you're not him," _Ed insisted. "_Yes, you guys are future or past versions of each other, but you're not the same person. You're connected, but not the same. Just like I'm not the same person I was when I was fifteen. Are you the same person you were six years ago?"_

Roy thought about that for a moment. "Good point," he agreed. "I was a dumb fourteen year old. Come to think of it, I was an even dumber eighteen year old."

"_Really? How, exactly?"_

Roy grinned sheepishly. "Promise not to repeat what I tell you?" he asked.

Ed gave him a Look. _"Who exactly would I tell?"_

"Good point," Roy admitted. "Anyway, me at eighteen. I did some pretty dumb stuff, but one particular incident takes the cake. See, when I was fourteen I'd just started studying with my alchemy teacher, right?"

"_Okay," _Ed followed, _"scary, was he?"_

"Yes very, but that's not it. You see, it wasn't just me and Teacher living in his house. He had a daughter too."

"_Oh no. I think I see where this is going,"_ Ed groaned.

"Well, you're wrong," Roy said defensively. "I never even kissed her." He sighed wistfully for a moment before continuing. "She's about three years younger than me, so at first I just sort of ignored her. She didn't think much of me either. I was just a dumb boy to her. But y'know, years passed and by the time I was eighteen, oh she was beautiful Ed. Really beautiful. So of course I had the biggest crush on her. But Teacher threatened to burn me to a cinder if I went near her. That kind of complicated things."

"_Uh, yeah," _Ed winced. _"I can see how it would. So what happened?"_

"Well, one day we were both out in the garden. Teacher had gone into the village for something for the whole day and it was just us. It was a pretty windy day, but it was still nice, so we were outside. I was studying one of my books and she was, oh I forget, doing some gardening or something. Something involving flowers anyway."

"_Soo. . ."_

"Well," Roy continued, "she was wearing this pink hat. It was her favourite. Eventually though, the wind blew her hat off and it caught on the gable of the roof. She was really upset."

"_Oh no," _Ed groaned again.

"Oh yes," Roy said, "yours truly climbed up after it. I thought it was a great plan. I would climb up and rescue her hat, thereby impressing the fair maiden with my athletics and chivalry and earning a grateful kiss. I was sure it was foolproof. So, of course, it went horribly wrong. I did manage to climb up and get a hold of that dratted hat, but my descent left a lot to be desired. I fell the last three and half feet and broke my leg."

"_I take it from your voice that your teacher's daughter wasn't impressed."_

"On the contrary, she was very impressed. With my incredible stupidity. She told me she'd never seen someone be such an idiot before."

"_Ow," _Ed sympathised.

"Yeah," Roy said. "And of course Old Man Hawkeye wasn't exactly pleased when he came home that night and found me with cast on my leg."

Ed froze. _"Hawkeye?" _he asked. "_Your teacher's name was Hawkeye?"_

"Yes, why? Have you heard of him?"

Ed didn't answer. Instead, to Roy's surprise and slight irritation, he doubled over laughing. Minutes went by. Roy continued to wait for Ed to stop laughing. He didn't. Eventually, Roy shrugged and decided that he might as well ignore the laughing blond, so he curled back against the train seat, intending to get some sleep. At that particular moment the train shuddered around a sharp bend and Roy's spine promptly slammed against the hard wooden seat.

_I hate train seats! I hate them, hate them, hate them! _

"_I told you not sit that way."_

_Oh shut up._

###

Berthold George smiled broadly at the man standing in front of him. "Ah, the conquering hero. Do sit down m'boy," he invited the dark-haired man. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Ah, no," Sparky drawled, pulling out a chair. "Unfortunately I was escorted here before I had the chance."

"A regrettable oversight on my part," Mr. George agreed. "I apologise, but I did want to speak with you as soon as possible." The old man turned to his butler. "Bentley, be a good man and ask the cook to rustle up something for our young friend, would you?"

The butler gave him a polite bow, his dreadful false hair-piece dangling precariously for a moment, and then left quickly. Mr. George turned his attention back to Sparky, who was now seated comfortably in an armchair. "Well then, straight to business, I suppose," he said. "As you have held up your end of the bargain, it is time for me to hold up mine."

Berthold tugged a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to the younger man. "There you are, payment in full. You did an excellent job."

Sparky looked at the paper briefly and then pocketed it. "Thank you," he said shortly and then made to leave.

"Ah, hold on a moment young man," Mr. George said, holding up a hand. "I have another proposition for you, if you're interested."

"I'm not."

"Well, at least let me tell you what it is," Berthold suggested. "There are some other things I wish to discuss as well. Besides, you don't want to leave before you have a chance to eat do you? My cook would be very distressed if someone let her hard work go to waste."

The reference to food seemed to do the trick, and Sparky sat back down again. "All right, tell me what your proposition is."

The old man leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He was pretty sure of the answer he would get, but there was no harm in trying. "As I said, you did an excellent job dealing with that. If you are interested, I would be happy to offer you permanent employment."

"Again," the younger man replied, "I am not interested. Though I do thank you for the offer. Now what else did you wish to discuss?"

"Your experience in the sewers," Mr. George said delicately. "I believe you ran into a mutual interest of ours down there?"

Sparky looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "I do know that Stig reports to you. You told me so yourself, if you'll recall."

"Ah, so I did," Mr. George admitted. "Then I should cut to the chase: you spoke with young Major Mustang at Ivan's after the two of you left the sewers. What exactly did you and your young lookalike speak about?"

"Alchemy," Sparky said with a shrug, momentarily surprising the old man who had expected to be told it was none of his business.

"And besides Alchemy?" Mr. George tried. "Was the young man not surprised to see a complete stranger who resembled him so greatly?"

Sparky's lips twitched into a confident smirk, and Berthold George was once again struck by the strange contradictions surrounding the man. He claimed to be a former corporal, but the look on his face and his very bearing screamed of a capable commanding officer, like a Colonel or General. Berthold was almost tempted to brave Hohenheim of Light's wrath and send someone to Resembool to get information about him.

"If you want to know what else we spoke about, you'll have to ask Roy," Sparky told him. "I wouldn't recommend it though. You might get a nasty surprise. He's developed a vicious streak lately." The man's smirk widened as he added, "it's about five and half foot tall and very short tempered."

"Unfortunately," Berthold replied, filing the cryptic words away for mental analysis later, "the boy has already caught the train back to Central. So it seems that if I want to know anything, it is you I must ask. I take it from your words that you are not a stranger to the young Major then?"

"Mmm, that is technically true," Sparky agreed. "Why are you so interested in him anyway?" the dark-eyed alchemist asked intently.

"His foster-mother is an acquaintance of mine," the old crime lord explained. "She would be upset if something happened to her son. I do not wish her to be upset."

"Madame Christmas, a mere acquaintance?" Sparky repeated sceptically. "Why don't I believe you?"

_Perhaps because you are much sharper than you should be,_ Berthold thought speculatively. He thought briefly for a moment and decided to risk it. "You are somewhat correct, acquaintance isn't quite the right word."

"I thought so," Sparky drawled. "So what is the right word?"

Berthold shrugged. "Chris Mustang is my daughter. I may not have had any direct contact with my adopted grandson, but I am quite interested in his welfare."

The effect on Sparky was instantaneous and the old man watched with interest as the alchemist's face went pale and his jaw dropped. It was rather gratifying to at last see this mysterious young man, who seemed to know so much that he shouldn't, be lost for words. As Bentley re-entered the room, carrying a tray of tea, toast and scrambled egg, Berthold smiled at the shocked man. "Ah, here's breakfast. Excellent timing, don't you think?"


	25. Grandpa

_Chris Mustang is my daughter. . ._

Mustang stared at the old man in front of him, his mouth open with shock as he tried to process what the Mr. George had just said.

"_You _are Madame's father?" he managed in a strangled voice as he tried to work out if the man was telling the truth.

"Indeed," the old man said. "Though it's been a long time since I've spoken to her face to face. Even longer since I've spoken to young Roy. I doubt he even remembers Grandpa Bert." There was a satisfied smile on the older man's face and Mustang could tell that Mr. George was pleased to see him a little rattled.

_Grandpa Bert. Old Grandpa Bert_. Mustang managed to recover his straight face, but his mind was still whirling. He vaguely remembered the old man now. He used to come over on a Sunday. He'd steal coffee from Madame and flirt jokingly with Roy's older sisters. He'd also helped Roy build up a respectable collection of toy cars. Then, one Sunday, he and Madame had argued about something and after that he hadn't come back. It had been the last time Roy had seen him and after a while, the young boy had forgotten about him.

###

_The child peeked curiously out from under the covered table as he heard the kitchen door open and saw two pairs of legs walk in. "Brrmm brrmm," he said quietly, pushing his blue toy car around in a circle. Outside the tablecloth, the two adults talked in hushed tones. Xiaolang paused for a moment and listened. It was Miss Chris and her Papa, Grandpa Bert._

_"I don't want you around him anymore," Miss Chris told Grandpa Bert._

_"Chris . . ."_

_"No, Dad. Stay away. I don't want him encouraged to get involved in your business." _

_"As opposed to _your _business Chris?"_

_"Even if I planned for him to get involved in my work, which I don't, it's still a great deal more safe than yours. We promised his mother he'd be safe, remember?" Miss Chris snapped. Xiaolang wondered why she sounded angry. _

_Xiaolang liked Grandpa Bert. He was old and funny and he always had something interesting in his pocket. He reminded Xiaolang of Mama's guard, Mister Fuu. Also, he spoke proper Xingian, even though the old man agreed with Miss Chris that Xiaolang had to answer to the short Amestrian name she'd given him. Xiaolang wrinkled his nose. Roy was an okay name he supposed, but he wanted to use his **own** name. He wanted to go back to Xing, back to his mama. It wasn't fair._

_As he thought about this, the child's temper rose and in a fit of anger he sent his toy flying. There was a muffled thump as it hit something and a yelp._

_"Roy?" Miss Chris' voice said sternly. "Is that you under there?" The four-year-old thought about not answering for a minute. "Roy?" Miss Chris said again. "Come out." At that, Xiaolang gave up trying to hide and crawled out from under the table, plopping himself onto floor. Grandpa Bert walked over and crouched down next to him, the little blue car in his hand._

_"Eh, Roy-boy," the old man said, smiling, "what's this then?"_

_"Car," Xiaolang announced in Amestrian, reaching for his toy. "It brue."_

_"Blue," Grandpa Bert corrected him, handing the car back._

_Xiaolang pouted. He didn't like Amestrian. It was too hard, it sounded all wrong and he kept forgetting and mixing up the words. But Miss Chris had told him that he had to keep learning it. Nobody here spoke Xingian except her and Grandpa Bert._

_Grandpa Bert smiled and ruffled his hair. "You like those little cars, eh son?"_

_"Dad," Miss Chris said in a warning tone. _

_Grandpa Bert sighed. "Alright, alright Chris, I'm going." Then he turned back to Xiaolang. "You be good for your Aunt Chris, okay Roy?"_

_"'Kay," Xiaolang agreed. "New car?" he asked hopefully._

_A look passed between the adults and Miss Chris shrugged. Grandpa Bert pulled a car out of his pocket and handed it to the four-year-old, who examined it carefully, turning it over in his hands. "What's colour called?" he asked._

_"Orange," the old man replied. "Do you like it?"_

_"Or-ange," Xiaolang repeated. "Yes, thank you Grandpa," he said carefully, trying not to mess up the words._

_Grandpa Bert laughed. "Listen to you, full of fancy manners." He stood and ruffled the child's hair again. "Goodbye now."_

_Xiaolang smiled up at Grandpa Bert. "Bye-bye."_

_###_

As he pulled himself out of the old memory, Mustang shook his head. All that time in East as an adult, he'd run into the man more than a few times and had even almost been able to arrest him once. He'd never realised who the man was. The way Madame's eyes would narrow disapprovingly when Mustang mentioned his occasional crossing of paths with the crime lord made sense now. For whatever reason, she hadn't wanted him to remember.

"You seem surprised," Mr. George said neutrally, carefully watching the younger man's face.

"Did you expect me to be otherwise?" Mustang drawled, his vaguely interested mask now firmly back in place. "I doubt it's common knowledge that you have a daughter. And I suspect you want to keep it that way."

"Usually I would not expect anyone to know," the old man admitted. "There are very few people I would trust with such information. But you seem to have a knack for knowing things, don't you?"

"True," Mustang said, "but even so, why tell me? I might let anyone know. You have enemies who would be only too happy to take advantage of such information, right?"

"Yes, you are quite correct. But I get the feeling that you won't tell anyone. Although," Mr. George continued in a pleasant tone, leaning forward to look Mustang directly in the eyes, "if I thought you would put Chris in any kind of danger Sparky, you would already have died a slow, painful death. Is that understood?"

"Ah, completely," Mustang assured the suddenly intimidating old man, swallowing nervously in spite of himself.

"Well, that's good," Mr. George declared, sitting back and clapping his hands together. Then he looked at the table, where the butler had left the tray of breakfast. "You should eat up before it goes cold," he suggested. "You can take your leave then."

Mustang nodded politely and thanked the man. When Mr. George rose and left the room, Mustang regarded the breakfast tray. While he was not entirely confident that there might not be something unpleasant mixed in the food, it had still been a long time since his last meal and his stomach was making its displeasure known.

Another rumble from his stomach decided him, and Mustang began to devour the toast and egg with speed. A few minutes later he sat back and let out a contented sigh.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to eat that fast?" a voice said suddenly, and Mustang started up from his chair before he realised who it was and fell back with an irritated huff.

"How long have you been there?" he asked.

Sakura stepped out from behind one of the room's many bookshelves and grinned at him. "Oh, I was here before you and the old man entered," she told him cheerfully.

"Great. Good for you," Mustang muttered with a scowl. "Well, I'm leaving now. So, goodbye."

"Sparky, wait," Sakura said quickly as he got to his feet.

"What is it now?"

The scarred woman walked forward to face him. "I wanted . . . to thank you. For saving my life back in the sewers," she said, and then bowed.

"Oh uh . . . you're welcome," Mustang told her, feeling a little awkward at the low bow. When Sakura straightened up, he stuck out his hand. "Thanks for watching my back down there."

Sakura shook his hand with a smile. "You are also welcome. _Sparky._" She grinned as she saw him wince at the name.

"Okay, now I'm definitely leaving," Mustang announced, turning on his heel. "Thank you and goodbye."

Sakura's grin grew broader. "When you return, maybe then you will tell me your name?"

Mustang frowned at her as he made his way towards the door. "What makes you think I'm going to return?" he asked the grinning alkahestrist.

She shrugged. "It is just a feeling. Call it women's intuition if you like."

"Ohh," Mustang purred. "A 'feeling', huh? I'm flattered, but sadly unavailable at the moment."

The grin vanished from Sakura's face instantly and a very sharp knife missed his head by less than an inch and thunked into the door frame, but Mustang couldn't say it wasn't worth it.

"Come," the scarred knife-thrower snapped, grabbing hold of his arm and marching him out into the hallway. "As you said, it is time you left."

Just as Mustang was about to shake her off and stride to the front door, a thought struck him and he paused and turned to the woman still holding his arm in a death-grip. "Sakura?"

"What?" she demanded.

"Have you ever heard of the Golden City?"

Sakura's eyes widened and she let go of his arm. "Why do you ask?"

Mustang shrugged. "Just something I heard recently. It has something to do with alchemy, but I don't know what yet."

"It's a place in the history of alkahestry," Sakura explained, leaning back against the wall of the hallway and regarding him speculatively. "The Golden City is supposed to be the perfect place, home of the Sage of the West. It was he who brought knowledge of alkahestry to Xing a thousand years ago. They say he was the perfect man." She grinned. "But I know that there's no such thing as _that._"

"I'm deeply hurt," Mustang drawled. "Why do you wound me so?"

"Because your reactions amuse me," she replied happily. The she became serious again. "Another possible answer to your question is that the Golden City is some kind of concept of a particular ideal. Eternal life, limitless power, that sort of thing. The usual rubbish."

"So, " Mustang said thoughtfully, "if someone actually told you to go to the Golden City, would that mean anything specific?"

Sakura shrugged. "It's possible. As I said, it could be a complicated metaphor. Or you might have been told to go to the actual ruins."

"The actual ruins?"

"The Golden City was also title held by the capital of Ancient Xerxes," she informed him. "It's theorised that the Sage of the West was a survivor of the disaster that happened there. The ruins of that city are still out there in the Eastern Desert. You'd need a very good guide though. Otherwise you'd get hopelessly lost."

"The desert, huh?" Mustang murmured to himself. "Just great."

Sakura raised an eyebrow at him. "You have something against the desert, Sparky?"

He grimaced. "Let's just say it's not my favourite place and leave it at that." He started to leave and then stopped again and turned back to Sakura. "This Sage of the West. . . "

"Yes?"

"Exactly what was so perfect about him?"

Sakura pursed her lips. "In ancient times, the Xingian people regarded gold as the perfect metal. The legends of the Sage describe him as having features of gold."

"A metal man?" Mustang said sceptically.

Sakura laughed. "No, foolish one. As far the old tales say, it was simply a characteristic of the Xerxian people. Ishballans have dark skin and red eyes. Xingians dark hair and eyes with pale skin, as well you know of course." Mustang nodded and Sakura continued, "if there were Xerxians around today you'd spot them instantly. The legends say they all had bright blond hair and golden eyes." She smiled at him. "It's a pity they all disappeared, isn't it? They must have been such beautiful people."

_Golden hair and eyes, huh? I don't think they're quite as gone as you think,_ Mustang thought, but did not say. Instead, he thanked her once again and then left.

###

This room was a small study. Small notebooks lined the shelves that covered the walls. However, unlike the library where Berthold George preferred to receive important visitors, there was no fireplace. As such, the room was cold and musty, with the smell of slowly decaying paper pervading everything. The advantage this room had over others though, was the fact that the window provided a perfect view of the driveway and entrance to his mansion.

Right now, Mr. George was looking intently out that window at the small brown clothed figure walking down the gravelled driveway. A knock came on the door as the old man stared out the window. "Enter," he called, unsurprised when his butler opened the door and his best scout and bodyguard walked in. "Well?" he asked.

"I couldn't get his name out of him," Sakura reported. "But I think I know where he's planning to go next. He seems to have an interest in going to the Eastern Desert."

"The desert," Mr. George mused. "And what is out there for him?"

Sakura shrugged. "Some very old ruins and a lot of sand."

"And possibly passage to Xing," Bentley added quietly.

Mr. George sighed. "He worries me. The things he knows, the things he might know. He worries me . . ."

"Do you wish me to go to Resembool, old man?" Sakura asked quietly.

"I think we'll have to risk it," Mr. George said slowly.

"Sir. . ." Bentley began.

Mr. George waved him into silence. "Yes, I know. It will put all of us at risk if Hohenheim of Light finds out. Key word: if. As in: if there's anyone who knows how not to attract attention it's Sakura." He nodded to the woman in question. "You'd better get going. The faster you get there, the faster you can leave."

Sakura gave him a short salute. "See you soon old man."

Once the door had closed behind her, Bentley dropped his 'butler mask' his face becoming serious. "Berthold," he said to his employer and oldest friend, "I know you know what you're doing, but. . ."

"Why am I doing it?"

"Yes."

Mr. George turned back to the window. There was no sign of the fire alchemist now. He had vanished out the gate and into the city. "Because Bentley, he is an unknown. Whether he has intention of becoming one or not, he is a threat to my family. And no disrespect to Old Yellow-Eyes, but safeguarding them is more important than his dictates on where I can and cannot go."

"Berthold," the butler said, "he only knows about Madame because _you_ told him."

The older man laughed at this. "Bentley," he said, "it's not Chris I'm worried about. It's young Roy. I _know _he has never met Sparky before last night, and yet, the man talks of him with great familiarity. For crying out loud, they have the same type of alchemy, the same _face_. I want to know how that is possible. I want to know what Sparky's name is and why I can't find any record of his existence."

"Sir," Bentley questioned, butler persona back in place, "are you entirely sure that it's impossible for him to be a relative of the young Major's from Xing?"

"Positive," Berthold snapped. "Roy's birth-mother had only one son and if they were related it would have to be through her. He looks nothing like his father and neither does Sparky. They both resemble Lady Xiaofan."

"A younger brother of hers perhaps?" Bentley suggested.

"She was an only child. And that doesn't explain his East City accent. No, he's been in Amestris a long time. The question is, _where_ in Amestris has he been? If things go well, Sakura should have an answer for us soon."

Bentley nodded and left quietly, once again every inch the proper butler. When he was gone, Berthold sat down with a sigh. After a moment, he dug something out of his pocket and examined it, turning it over and over in his hand. The small toy car glittered in the sunlight.

"Is Bentley right, Sparky?" he wondered aloud. "Are you someone from the Yao clan, interested in retrieving the disappeared prince? Hmm?" His face hardened and the old man growled, "well if you are, too bad for you. Xiaolang Yao is dead. And Roy Mustang is _my _grandson. So your damned Emperor can stay the hell away from him."

###

_Resembool._

John Rockbell stuck a thermometer in yet another mouth and stifled a yawn. There had been a lot more patients today and he was tiring. He was also worried. The people he'd seen today all had more or less the same symptoms as his current patient, though ranging somewhat in severity. He had a nasty feeling that there was a contagious illness on the rounds, and if that was so, things would only get worse.

Laughter outside the window briefly distracted both the doctor and his patient from gloomy thoughts.

"I caught him!" a boy's voice cried. "Ed's it!"

"I'm not it! Winry's it!"

"Am not!" another voice denied. "You cheated, alchemy dork!"

"Did not, automail geek! You're it, Al an' me win!"

"Brotherrr! Let go!"

John shook his head with a smile and took back his thermometer. "They're a handful, aren't they?"

Trisha smiled. "Yes, but I wouldn't have them any other . . ." Her sentence trailed off as she began to cough painfully and John quickly got her a glass of water. Once she stopped coughing, Trisha found him giving her a concerned look. "Is something wrong John?"

"Trisha. . . "he said carefully, "are you sure you told me everything? Just a cough and slight fever, yes? Nothing else?"

"No, nothing else," Trisha replied, a little puzzled. "Why?"

John shook his head. "I just- No reason. Go home, get some rest."


	26. Misinformed

The sound of shrill whistles, wheels whirring and the thump of trains slowing on their tracks echoed across the East City Station as Sakura made her way to the train which would stop at the small depot at Resembool on its way to Central. The wet heat of steam filled the station air, making the already hot weather of early summer even more uncomfortable. So it was with some relief that the scar-faced woman accepted a nearby conductor's hand and boarded the train.

Unlike the gray, black and brown clothes which Sakura usually wore to help her fade into the background and shadows, the neat long skirt and lady's jacket she wore today were a dark green, as was the reasonably fashionable hat perched atop her head. Those clothes, coupled with a brown moderately-sized travel-bag, gave the impression of a respectable woman who would not be out of place on a train bound for Amestris' capital city. As she walked along the carriages searching for a suitable seat, none of the other passengers gave her a second glance.

It was when she entered the second to last carriage of the train that Sakura had to hold back a gasp of surprise. Sitting in one of the seats at the end of the car with his back turned to her, was a man whose head of glossy black hair was very familiar. It was too late to go back through the carriage door without attracting attention, and she certainly couldn't go to the one at the other end of the car, not unless she wanted to walk right past the man. So she quickly sat in a seat out of the man's view and pulled a folded up newspaper from her handbag to hide her face in case the object of her surprise got up for any reason.

As the train whistle blew and the locomotive shuddered to a start, Sakura hid behind the newspaper and attempted to marshal her thoughts into something approaching order. _First things first,_ she thought, _what on earth is Sparky doing on this train? I thought he was heading East. He seemed very interested in the Eastern Desert, so why is he going to Central? Unless . . . maybe he is going back to Resembool? Now this could be useful. After all, the whole point of this trip is to gather information on him. What better way than to follow him?_

Her course of action decided, Sakura took out a small mirror and angled it carefully in her hand so that she would be forewarned if he decided to take a walk. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, given that she had to spend the next several hours with her palm angled a certain way, Sparky did not move from his seat even once.

Eventually, to Sakura's great relief, the train chugged to a halt and the conductor began to announce its arrival in Resembool. Sparky stood up almost immediately, so she made sure to keep her face carefully hidden behind the newspaper until he had left the car, then rose carefully and left the train. Sakura's next problem turned out to be the fact that Resembool had a very small station, if indeed it could even be called that. There was absolutely nowhere to hide. All the dark-haired man departing the station had to do was turn around and he would see her.

But as the train's whistle sounded again and it moved away from the small stopping point with growing speed, Sparky did not look around even once. Instead he strode purposefully out of the little station and disappeared up the small street.

Once the danger was past and she had allowed herself a sigh of relief, Sakura immediately began to rework her plan. The initial idea had been to come as a respectable well-off woman and make delicate inquiries about a cousin she was looking for. But with Sparky already here, that plan was now pointless and would have to be scrapped. Instead, she decided, it would be back to her regular work clothes and shadowing a target as normal, perhaps with some inquiries later. No harm in finding out what the people around here thought of Sparky after all.

That decided, Sakura quickly found a secluded corner of the small station and changed into her non-descript work clothes, folding her green skirt and jacket tidily into her travel-bag. Now that she did not look out of place in a small town- just another travelling labourer looking for work- Sakura hefted her bag and made her way along the small street until she found what had to be the area's only inn situated above the local pub. The owner was only too happy to have a paying customer from out of town and quickly showed her to a small neatly furnished room.

As soon as the inn owner left, Sakura quickly stowed her bag under the small bed and locked the door behind her. Sparky couldn't have got far. It was past time she found him again.

###

Mustang let out a groan and stretched his arms as he walked up the bright sun-lit street and away from the main village. Trains were quickly returning to the top of his list of most hated ways to travel. He hadn't spent so much time on the train since he was a Major. Maybe this was why Fullmetal had always been such a pain. Travelling all over the country on the damn things must've had a negative effect on the kid's brain.

The thought of Edward reminded Mustang of the fact that said kid and his younger self were probably back in Central by now, seeing as they'd managed to catch yesterday's morning train, which Mustang had missed in order to collect his payment for dealing with the Animal Alchemist from a certain crime-lord. Still, it was probably just as well. Travelling on the same train with the Major might catch the wrong kind of attention and besides, it was a relief to have actual money in his pocket for the first time in nearly two weeks.

As he walked on and left the village behind him, Mustang began to wonder if perhaps he should have headed straight to the Eastern Desert instead of first taking a detour to Resembool. But then, he had promised Fullmetal that he'd check on his mother before following the Gate's cryptic advice about the 'Golden City', since Edward was currently unable to do so, what with being stuck in young Roy's head.

Of course, that was before Mustang had talked to Sakura and found out exactly what the Golden City was, but even so, he concluded, it was probably best to see how Trisha was doing first. _Besides,_ he thought, _if I ran off to the Eastern Desert straight away, that glorified excuse for a door might think it was allowed to order me around._

Mustang walked on, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach as he came in sight of the Rockbell house and continued past it, until at last he spotted his destination. A shudder passed through him for a moment and he paused and looked around carefully. For a moment he had felt as if there was someone nearby, watching him. But there was nothing out of the ordinary and after a moment Mustang continued on.

###

A couple hundred metres back from where Sparky was standing, Sakura had ducked into a ditch at the roadside. Raising the small compact binoculars she had brought with her, the woman focused interestedly on the dark-haired man. From what she could see, he seemed to be making his way quickly to a reasonably sized house with a small neat garden surrounded by a white picket fence. Carefully keeping out of sight, Sakura darted after him.

As she made her way closer to Sparky, but still stayed far enough away that she wouldn't be seen, Sakura noticed the brunette woman that was hanging bedsheets on the washing line in the garden and narrowed her eyes, focusing on the woman. Though she was dressed in a plain pinafore dress and apron, the woman had beautiful rich brown hair and a modest, pretty face. _Is she who Sparky has come back here to see, _Sakura wondered_. A lover perhaps, or even his wife?_

Sparky waved and Sakura vaguely heard the sound of his voice as he called out to the woman. The brunette stared in surprise for a moment and then waved back enthusiastically. She called back to the man, but Sakura was not close enough to hear what was said and didn't dare move closer than she already was. The last thing she needed was for Sparky to catch her spying on him. She did not imagine he would react well, and she'd seen enough of his alchemic skill back in the East City Sewers to know that she didn't want to give him an excuse to use her for target practice.

As he approached her, the woman paused in her housework and made her way over to the tall, dark-haired alchemist who kissed her on the cheek in greeting. The brunette rested her hands on his arms, looking him up and down with a smile and then hugged him happily. Probably his wife, Sakura decided. No wonder he had told her he wasn't available. To her amusement, Sparky looked vaguely uncomfortable. So it was okay for him to give public displays of affection, but he didn't like receiving them? Sakura shook her head at his foolishness. Men really were ridiculous creatures.

The woman, who Sakura was tempted to dub Mrs. Sparky, cupped her hands around her mouth, clearly calling to someone inside the house. After a moment a happy shriek echoed across the fields and Sakura watched with increasing interest and a certain amount of shock as a small blond boy came running out the door and launched himself at Sparky, who laughed and caught the boy easily, hefting him up onto his shoulders. A second later another child also rocketed out the door and latched onto one of the man's legs.

Sakura cocked her head, trying to get a better view of the children. They'd inherited their hair from their mother's side of the family although not directly from her, that was obvious enough, but she couldn't get a clear view of their faces, which she suspected would probably look more like Sparky. Idly, she wondered if either of his sons had inherited the man's dark eyes. With their blond hair, it would make for a rather exotic combination.

Sakura couldn't help but smile at the sight that was now before her. Standing there, with one child sitting on his shoulders and another hugging him around the waist, Sparky looked. . . happy. Though she couldn't hear it, she could see that he was laughing easily, his normally guarded expression relaxed and open. The woman who was almost certainly his wife had returned to hanging sheets on the line, but there was a delighted smile on her face as she watched her husband and sons. She must have missed him, Sakura thought wistfully, smiling as she watched the happy family. Sakura shook her head in slight disbelief. She would never have guessed Sparky was a father.

Of course, there was another side to this discovery, Sakura mused as she watched the family walk into the house and out of sight. If Mr. George decided Sparky was a threat, things could become. . . difficult. The old man had rules and one of those rules was that he would have nothing to do with anyone who had hurt a child. By extension this meant that in his business dealings, the old man tried to avoid orphaning children also. Of course, if there was no other choice he would not hesitate to kill the dark-haired alchemist, but the fact that Sparky had a young family meant that if it became necessary the old man would delay dealing with him permanently in favour of other solutions. Especially in this case, Sakura suspected, since the father he would be depriving two children of looked so much like the old man's only grandson.

###

Sakura was still watching the house sometime later, when Sparky emerged into the evening sun with a shopping bag over his shoulder. He was followed by the two small boys, while his wife stood in the doorway and handed him a piece of paper. Was he. . . _yes_, she thought_, he's being sent to get the groceries_. And she hastily stuffed her hands over her mouth to stifle the snickers. As she watched, Sparky hefted the bag so that it fitted better over his shoulder and then held the hand of his smaller son while the other one raced ahead.

"Ed!" she heard him call out in semi-exasperation while behind him, his wife laughed in amusement. "Slow down!"

If the boy heard his father, he gave no sign of it and began to disappear into the distance. Sparky seemed to shake his head at this, and then, quick as a flash, he lifted the smaller boy onto his shoulders and raced after his other son. Sakura paused, waiting until they were almost out of view and then she darted after them.

Once she reached the small main village of Resembool, it was easy enough for the professional scout to find Sparky and his two boys. The little blond head of hair swaying head and shoulders above everyone else was simple to keep an eye on. To Sakura's continuing amusement, it did indeed seem as if Sparky had come home only to be sent out shopping.

As she watched the man and two boys exit the village's small store with a bag full of groceries and sundries, Sakura once again made sure to fade into the shadows, hiding herself as much as possible, difficult though that was on such a sunny day, and continued following them. So far there was no indication from Sparky that he was aware of her presence the way he had been earlier on the road to his house and Sakura let herself relax a little.

This proved to be a mistake. As Sakura continued to follow her targets, they turned around a corner and briefly disappeared from sight. When she carefully turned the corner after them, to her surprise Sparky's sons were up the street talking to a diminutive old woman, the shopping bag on the ground at their feet, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Confused, she walked nearer and was caught by surprise when a hand shot out and grabbed her arm, pulling her into an alleyway. Before she could even draw a weapon, Sakura found herself face to face with a furiously scowling fire alchemist.

"What are _you _doing here?" he hissed. "Why are you following me?"

Sakura sniffed. "I am not following you Sparky," she lied easily. "Contrary to what you may think, the whole world does not revolve around you."

"That didn't really answer my question," he pointed out levelly.

"Didn't it?" Sakura asked innocently. "Oh, that is a shame."

"Don't play games with me, Sakura," the man snapped. "I do know who you work for, if you'll recall, and I'm damn sure the only reason he'd send you out here is. . . " His voice trailed off as he caught sight of something over her shoulder and she pulled herself free as his grip slackened.

"Mister Roy?" a child's voice said behind her. "Are you comin'? We've got everythin' from Granny now."

Sakura noted the brief wince that crossed Sparky's face before he answered: "Yes, I'm coming Al. Just give me a minute."

Sakura turned and found herself faced with two small boys. Both blond, their similar features marked them as brothers. They were clearly the children she'd seen with Sparky earlier, but now that she was nearer she could see they bore no resemblance to the man she'd been shadowing. Her assumption seemed to have been mistaken. Sparky was obviously _not _their father in blood. Still, his behaviour towards them had been decidedly parental and there was his obvious affection for both the boys and their mother. _Stepfather then,_ Sakura guessed.

"Hi!" one of the boys said cheerfully, "who are you?"

Sakura smiled at the boy. He was, she had to admit, very cute. "Hello, I'm Sakura. I'm an old friend of," and here she paused, grinning victoriously at the man formerly known as Sparky, "_Mister Roy._ But I usually call him Sparky."

The other boy laughed. "That's funny! Can I call you that Mister Roy?"

"Okay, now I really hate you. He's never going to let go of that," Sparky hissed at her before turning to the snickering boy and informing him sternly that he did not care to be known by that particular nickname. The boy nodded obediently, but from the way his lip was twitching Sakura suspected it wouldn't be long before the nickname made a reappearance. From the resigned look on Sparky's face, he thought so too.

"I'm Al," the first boy informed her. "And this is my big brother, Ed."

"Nice to meet you, Al, Ed," Sakura said. Then she got a better look at Ed's face and gasped in surprise. The last conversation she'd had with Sparky back in Easy city rang in her ears. _If there were Xerxians around today you'd spot them instantly. The legends say they all had bright blond hair and golden eyes._

An lo and behold, right in front of her was a child fitting that very description. Sakura couldn't stop herself from staring.

Ed scowled at her. "Stop lookin' at me like that," he said angrily. "I can't help it if I have weird eyes. It's not my fault!"

Sparky blinked in surprise at this outburst so Sakura guessed it wasn't normal behaviour for the boy. "Weird . . . Ed? Did someone say something to you about your eyes?" he asked.

The small boy shook his head stubbornly. "No," he said, obviously lying.

"Are you sure?" the man asked him again in a gentle tone as Sakura watched intently, still interested by this new side of the mysterious alchemist who had her employer so worried. She was rather fascinated by the unhesitating soldier and expert in combat alchemy's sudden display of parental concern.

"I'm not a tell-tale!" Ed said defensively.

"So someone _did_ say something."

"Not a tell-tale!" Ed repeated.

"Ed, maybe you could tell us _what_ they said to you instead of who said it. That way you wouldn't be a tell-tale," Sakura suggested carefully. To her surprise, Sparky, who she now identified as Roy, gave her a grateful look.

Ed seemed to consider her words. "Someone at school said they looked like cat pee," he admitted finally.

"Ed," Roy said firmly, "They're wrong. Your eyes are not the colour of cat pee. They're the colour of gold. I'll bet you anything whoever said that to you is just jealous."

"You sure?" Ed said doubtfully.

"Of course I'm sure," Roy said, picking the boy up so that they were at eye-level. "Look at my eyes Ed. Would you call them squinty?"

Ed inspected Roy's face carefully. "No," he decided. "They're kinda slanty, not squinty. Mr. Cooper at the shop has a squint. You don't."

"Well, when I was a kid, the other boys in my class used to call me squinty-eyes and tell me they were ugly. I got pretty upset about it. Then my foster-Mom explained they were just jealous because I was doing better in class than they were. So they made themselves feel better by calling me names. 500 cenz says that whoever was mean to you is doing the same thing."

Ed thought about this for a few minutes and then nodded. "Okay," he agreed, sounding much happier as Roy deposited him back on the ground. "Thanks Mister Roy."

Roy smiled at the boy and ruffled his hair. "Come on big guy, we have groceries to deliver," he said.

To Sakura's confusion, the boy beamed, somehow inordinately pleased by the man's words and grabbed his younger brother before racing off down the road.

Roy looked at the bags the two boys had left behind them and sighed. "Why is it that I'm always left holding the bags?" he wondered.

Sakura snickered and Roy gave a disgruntled snort. "If you're going to follow me around, you can at least make yourself useful," he said testily, dropping some of the shopping into her hands. "Now come on, we'd better catch up to them before they get any clever ideas."

"Oh yes? Like what?" Sakura wanted to know, wondering what two little boys could come up with.

"You don't want to know."


	27. Confession

_Central City, Military HQ._

As he flopped onto the uncomfortably hard military-issue mattress of his bed in the dormitory, Roy looked thoughtfully at the glowing blond figure that was standing in the corner, staring out the window with a pensive expression.

"You're worried about something, aren't you," Roy ventured carefully.

"_Yeah. About my Mom. I don't remember the exact date, but she's going to get sick very soon."_

"Older-Me went to check up on her though. He'll make sure she's looked after. 'Cos y'know, I would," he said awkwardly. "So he definitely will. Obviously."

"_I know," _Ed murmured._ "But the Colonel isn't a doctor. And even if he lets the doctor know that something's wrong early, what if there's still nothing they can do?"_

"I guess you just have to hope."

"_Yeah. I know. It's just, I hate this. I hate not being able to do something. I hate being this, this helpless!"_ Ed attempted to slam his fist into the wall and sighed in resignation as his fist went straight through the peeling paint and disappeared until he pulled it out again.

"What if we went to Resembool?" Roy suggested tentatively. "You, well uh, _we_ could visit. You'd get to see her again."

Ed shook his head forcefully. _"She wouldn't be able to see me. And after what I did to her . . . I'm not sure I deserve to. Besides, if there's nothing that can be done . . . I don't want to watch her die again. I can't."_

"Yeah, okay. If you're sure you don't want to go then."

"_Yeah. Anyway,"_ Ed pointed out,_ "Colonel Grand would never allow it. You've only just joined his command. No way he's gonna let you take leave after only a week. You'd get marked AWOL. That's the last thing you need."_

"Mmm. I guess," Roy agreed. "But it's your Mom. That's more important than . . . um, actually, what exactly does happen to soldiers who go AWOL? I've never actually found out. Is it a few days in the brig or what?"

"_I . . . don't know," _Ed answered, his brow furrowing in thought._ "The one time Al and I . . . well those were kinda special circumstances."_

"Really? Special how?"

"_King Bradley is a homunculus special."_

"Oh."

"_Are you alright? You've gone really pale."_

"I'm fine. Really. Just, stop saying that, okay?"

"_Saying what?"_

"That the Fuhrer's a, a . . . you know."

"Is he?" a cheerful voice said suddenly, interrupting their conversation and startling Roy so much that he almost fell off of his bed. "I thought he was married. I guess that proves it, you never can tell."

"Hughes," Roy gasped, recovering slightly from his moment of surprise, "how long have you been standing there?"

"'Bout five seconds," Hughes shrugged, walking into the otherwise empty military dormitory and flopping onto the bed opposite Roy's.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to knock?" Roy grumbled at him. In his mind, Edward's presence seemed to dim and lock itself away, the same way it had every time Roy had been around Hughes since he'd gotten back to Central. Roy made a mental note to ask about that. Ed clearly had some kind of problem with Hughes and he was damn well going to find out what it was.

Unaware of his friend's current mental travails, Hughes grinned at him, unrepentant. "The door was wide open, firebug. You've only got yourself to blame. So," he continued excitedly, "how did you find out? Are you sure it's true? I mean, the Fuhrer? Really?"

"When did _I _find out? What the-" Roy paused for a second, noting the absolute lack of stomach churning horror and dread on Hughes' face, which bloody well should be there if he'd just found out the leader of the country was an undead monster. "Hughes, what exactly is it that you think I found out?"

"That the Fuhrer," Hughes began, and just as Roy began to panic again, his friend made a familiar gesture and finished "you know, _swings._"

"What? Oh, um no," Roy choked in relief, backtracking quickly. "He doesn't. I wasn't saying that. Definitely not." _Please, please believe me Maes,_ he prayed silently. _I do not want the psychotic undead ruler of the country to find out that I made someone think he was gay. I'd like to live to see my twenty-first birthday._

"But I just heard you say he was a-"

"It's a rumour," Roy invented desperately. "Just a rumour I heard in East City. Ridiculous right? Haha."

"Uh yes, I suppose it is." Hughes looked at him in concern. "Are you okay firebug? You seem a little off."

"Fine, fine," Roy assured him, standing up and making for the door. "Look Hughes, I've gotta go. See you later ok? And, um, please don't tell anyone that rumour. I don't want to get blamed for it, 'kay? Bye."

"Well, _somebody _obviously had too much coffee today," Hughes muttered to himself as he tilted his head and watched Roy's retreating back vanish down the corridor. "Maybe I should get him to come out for a drink later. Poor guy seriously needs to relax. Or get laid."

###

"_So, where exactly are we going?" _Ed inquired as he floated along after Roy through the streets of Central. It was late evening now and the street lamps were just beginning to cast a soft yellow glow on their surroundings.

_Somewhere we can have a conversation without interruptions and people staring at me,_ Roy replied silently, making his way down one of Central's back streets.

"_And without accidentally spreading rumours that Bradley is gay?"_ Ed suggested.

_I didn't say that! _Roy protested, flushing to the roots of his hair.

"_Uh huh, sure." _

_You do realise that if Bradley hears about it, he'll kill me, _Roy pointed out, glaring at the amused blond.

"_I'll miss you terribly,"_ Ed grinned.

_No you won't. You're stuck in my head. If I die, I'm taking you with me. Hah!_

"_Ooh. A fate worse than death," _Ed deadpanned. "_Oh wait, I'm already suffering that."_

Roy ignored him._ Aha, _he said, coming to a stop beside a small bar. _Here we are._

"_Madam Christmas'?" _Ed asked, reading the sign of the bar. _"Uh, Roy, is this place what I think it is?"_

_Yes, but don't worry, I know the owner. _

"_Somehow, I'm not surprised," _Ed muttered.

_She's my foster-mother, _the young Major told him icily, pushing the door open and walking into the dimly lit bar, which unusually for this time of evening, was almost completely empty.

Ed blinked. _"Foster mother? Uh . . . OH. Sorry, sorry!"_

Before Roy could reply, a rather provocatively dressed, auburn-haired young woman rushed forward from behind the bar and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Roy!" she squealed. "You came to visit us! What do you think of the new place? Oh, you look so handsome in your uniform!"

"Uh, hi Vanessa," Roy said, carefully disengaging himself from the girl's arms. "The new place looks nice. You must've all worked hard on it."

"Well, of course we did Roy," Vanessa told him, sounding slightly offended. "Us girls always work hard. Unlike a certain somebody who spends all his time playing with alchemy."

"You know, fire alchemy is mentally exhausting and physically draining," Roy informed her. "If I let my concentration slip even slightly I might get incinerated. It's not exactly child's play."

Vanessa waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, you're terribly smart and gifted, youngest State Alchemist ever, we know. Now is there something serious you need to talk about or," she winked, "is this just a social call to see your favourite girls?"

"So sorry Vanessa," Roy apologised, "but yes, there's something serious up. Is Madame around? I need to speak to her."

"Aww," Vanessa pouted, "too bad. Oh well. Madame's in the back room. Door's behind the bar."

"I have been here before you know."

"Only once," Vanessa said. "Besides, your head's so full of all that com-plic-ated alchemy. You might've forgotten simple things, like where the door is."

"Okay. Goodbye now," Roy decided, heading for the plain wooden door behind the bar. Behind him, Vanessa stuck out her tongue.

"_So, who's that then?" _Ed asked curiously as he looked back at Vanessa and gave her a little wave.

_Vanessa's one of my foster sisters, _Roy explained silently as he let himself through the door to the back room. Sitting on the divan in the richly furnished room was a rather heavy-set woman with glossy black hair and sharp, knowing eyes. Ed stared at her in open curiosity, wondering what the woman who had raised his commanding officer was going to be like. He was unsurprised to find out that she smoked.

"Eh, Roy-boy," the woman greeted him, raising her cigarette holder in salute, "what's got you so up in knots that you'd come here in a uniform? You know respectable people shouldn't be seen here, at least not while they might still be at work. What's gotten into you? You should have more sense than that."

"Sorry Madame," Roy apologised, "something came up rather fast and I needed a safe place to think."

A concerned look briefly crossed the woman's face. "What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked. "Why isn't the military headquarters a safe place for you to be?"

"It is, it normally is," Roy assured her. "It's just not right now."

"Oh," Madame Christmas asked, blowing out a puff of smoke. "Why's that sonny?"

"It's hard to explain," Roy said awkwardly.

"Try," she insisted in a no-nonsense voice.

"It's really hard."

"Roy," Madame Christmas started, her temper beginning to stir, "stop dancing around this, whatever 'this' is. What's wrong?"

"You'll think I'm crazy," Roy hedged.

"So no different from normal then," she snapped. "So what?"

"So I need you not to ask about it for now. I can't even begin to explain things. I just need time to think. I promise I'll explain when I can, just not now."

"And is 'when you can' likely to be within the next week?" his mother demanded.

"Probably not," Roy admitted. "Please, I need you to just trust me on this for now. Please Mom."

Madame Christmas sighed. It was rare that her son called her by that title anymore and when he did it tended to be significant. "Alright Roy-boy," she agreed. "But that explanation had better be damn good when I get it, understand?"

"Understood," Roy replied. "Best explanation ever Madame, that's a promise."

"Good, now is there anything else?"

"Er, yes actually. In a few weeks a man who looks like an older version of me is going to be in town looking for information. He might come here, so I'd appreciate if you helped him instead of knocking him out and going through his pockets."

Madame blinked. "An. . . older version of you?" she repeated questioningly. "Sonny, should I be getting worried?"

"No, no," Roy promised. "It's just an alchemy thing, honest. He's a perfectly normal guy, really."

"_That's debatable," _Ed silently interjected with a smirk.

Roy tried to resist the urge to glare._ Don't distract me right now! If you make my mother think I'm crazy, I'll, I'll. . ._

"_Yes?" _Ed drawled, an evil grin showing on his face.

_I'll continually hum the song about the alchemist, the sausage and the one-armed butcher's wife! _Roy said triumphantly.

Ed went deathly pale. "_You wouldn't!"_

_Let's see, how did it go? As I was a-walking-_

"_Stop!" _Ed yelled. _"I won't make your Mom think you're crazy! I promise! For the sake of my sanity, stop!"_

"Roy? Are you in there?" Madame asked, waving a hand in front of her son's smirking face and unknowingly interrupting the mental conversation.

"Uh, yeah," Roy replied, feeling briefly confused before he realised he must've looked like he was blanking out when he talked to Ed. "Why do you ask?"

"You spaced out for a second there," Madame Christmas told him. "Kept glaring at the wall."

"Oh, sorry about that," Roy apologised. "Didn't mean to, it's just been a really weird day."

"Mmm, apparently," she muttered, before coughing and clearing her throat. "Roy, this man you mentioned, exactly how much does he look like you?" Madame asked.

"Pretty much identical, but about ten years older."

"And are you going to tell me exactly how this is possible?" she enquired.

"Ah, not right now," Roy told her apologetically. "He kinda comes under the 'best explanation ever' heading as well. Like I said, it's an alchemy thing. Okay?"

The heavy-set woman took a long drag of her cigarette. "Alright sonny. If that's everything then, you might as well sleep upstairs. No point in walking back across town to a place you don't seem to think is safe."

Roy smiled at her and kissed her cheek. "Thanks Mom."

Once her foster son had gone, Madame Christmas got her feet and made her way across the room to the drinks cabinet with surprising determination. Taking out a bottle of Drachman whisky, she muttered "better be the best damn explanation in the history of the world, Roy-boy" and took a swig. She looked at the bottle. It was almost empty. Madame thought for a moment and then took another swig.

She regretted it almost immediately. Drachman whisky was meant to be drank so fast and Madame Christmas' throat felt as though it was on fire. "Blasted boy," she muttered, staggering back to the divan and hurling the empty whisky bottle at the waste basket while she waited for her eyes to stop streaming. "He'll be the death of me."

###

Ed surveyed the room upstairs and decided that it had been clearly furnished with a scholar in mind. Besides a comfortable single bed and a cupboard, there was a chair and a sturdy desk with drawers built into it. A set of bookshelves had been installed up one wall and were half filled with both basic and esoteric alchemy texts. Ed floated over to have a look.

"_Are these yours?" _he asked Roy reverently, his hands literally ghosting over the books. "_Wait a minute, that's Theophrastus' Reflection of Truth. That's been banned for years. How did you get it?"_

Roy, who was stretched out comfortably on the bed, raised an eyebrow at him. "I inherited it from Teacher. How do _you_ even know about it? Younger you is, what, six right now? How'd you ever come across it?"

Ed sighed. _"Roy, remind me, who is my father?"_

"Oh. Right. Guess it goes without saying that he had a good collection."

"_You have no idea," _Ed muttered, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. He tried to pull out the book, but his hand pushed right through it. _"Aargh! I can't even touch books. You know, until right now I hadn't fully realised how much being dead sucks."_

"Uh huh," Roy said. "So let's talk about Hughes."

"_Say what?" _Ed blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. _"What about Hughes?"_ he asked, but the glow around him was fading and Roy could already feel him withdrawing behind that locked mental door.

"Stay right there Ed," he demanded. "You owe me an explanation."

"_Roy," _Ed said quickly, "_I don't think-"_

"That you owe the man on whose life your continued existence depends?" Roy said, crossing his arms. "Before we went to East, you freaked out at the sight of Maes and got me taken to the infirmary, which, if you remember, got me in hot water with Colonel Grand. And now, every time we're around him, you start to tense up and disappear. Hughes is my best friend, and you damn well owe me an explanation. What's going on?"

Ed looked at him, his expression pained and guilty. "_Are you sure you want to know? You won't like it,"_ he warned Roy.

Roy scowled back at him and Ed flinched despite himself. "He's my best friend. I think I deserve to know why you treat him as if he's poison."

"_I don't treat Hughes as if-"_

"Yes, You do." Roy said flatly. "Explain."

Ed seemed to wilt at that. He floated away from the bookshelf and sat down on the bed next to Roy. _"Y'know,"_ he began, "_Hughes was one of the first people from the military that I met besides you." _He paused and let out a sigh. "_You remember I told you I earned my watch at the age of twelve right?"_

"Yeah," Roy nodded. "So?"

"_So, for a few months before my birthday I was still studying for the State Examinations. I'd been working so hard I forgot about my birthday. And then, Hughes turned up at the door of the place Al and I were staying and the next thing I know I'm sitting at the dinner table of his house with a birthday cake in front of me."_

"That does sound like the kind of thing Maes would do," Roy admitted. "But what's that got to do with why you freak out around him?"

Ed waved his hand for silence. "_Just, let me explain, okay? See, even after I became a State Alchemist, Hughes'd still throw a birthday party for me. Every year. I was doing a man's job, going out the field doing crazy missions against people like that nutbar Kreiner. I was an adult in the eyes of the military and the law."_

"Same damn thing aren't they?" Roy muttered. Ed gave him a look.

"_Anyway,"_ he continued, "_we were kids, who at the same time, weren't kids. We couldn't afford to be. So as far as everyone was concerned we were adults and had to be treated accordingly. Except for Hughes. Whenever we were in Central he'd make sure we stayed in his house and not the dorms. Said they were too cold. Every year, every damn year, I got a red birthday cake with the Flamel symbol on the top, because I had a coat like that. Whenever I was in the hospital because of injuries, Hughes would come and visit. He'd stay for ages even when he really should've been back at work. He treated Al like a regular kid, even though he was a seven foot tall suit of armour. Hughes. . .he was the closest thing I had to a Dad for three years."_

Roy's brow furrowed in confusion. "Then why do you-"

"_Because he died," _Ed choked out, his voice cracking. "_He was murdered by the homunculi when I was fifteen. It was my fault."_

Roy felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. "What?" he whispered.

"_Hughes started investigating the homunculi," _Ed explained, translucent tears running down his glowing face. "_Somehow he managed to find out what they were up to and Bradley had him killed before he could warn the Colonel."_

"Then," Roy said slowly, trying to control his breathing, "how is it your fault exactly?"

_He wouldn't have known about the homunculi if I hadn't told him!" _Ed cried hysterically._ "He was investigating it to help me and Al! Envy shot him and it was my damn fault! I didn't even find out he was dead until weeks later! I didn't even get to go to the damn funeral!"_

As Roy stared at the hysterical spirit and tried to process all that he'd just said, one thought made itself clear in the whirling chaos of mind. "Hughes wouldn't blame you," he said.

"_W-what?" _Ed stammered.

"He wouldn't," Roy said, his voice soft and somehow far away. "He was trying to help you. You were his friends. He wouldn't blame you for what happened."

"_You can't know that,"_ Ed said.

"Excuse me," Roy snapped, making Ed flinch. "I happen to be his best friend. I think I know what I'm talking about. And besides," Roy said, his voice growing quieter, "from what Older-Me said while you weren't talking to me back in East, I think Hughes wouldn't have forgiven himself if he hadn't tried to help you."

Ed stared at him. "_What are you talking about?"_

Roy smiled sadly. "He wanted to adopt you and your brother. Legally, I mean. Did you know that? Older-Me said Hughes made him always have a set of adoption papers in his desk ready for the day you restored your brother and left the military. He must've loved you two very much. No way he'd blame you for what happened. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself either."

As Ed began to cry despite himself, Roy added, "think about this: Hughes is alive and kicking right now. And you, me and Older-Me are going to hand the homunculi their asses as soon as we get organised. They won't know what hit them."

A vicious grin showed itself through Ed's tears. "_Yeah,_" he said, his canines showing, "_that sounds like __**fun**__." _

 


	28. Ill

_Ruins of Xerxes, Eastern Desert._

As the sun gradually sank lower on the horizon and the desert night became bitingly cold Alya shivered and huddled closer to the small fire. Around her, the ruined columns and collapsing walls threw shadows that flickered and danced in the dying sunlight.

The twelve-year-old started abruptly when the shadow of a dog appeared on the wall opposite her. However, when she turned around in a panic she only found the big yellow-haired alchemist standing behind her, his hands folded oddly. There was nothing to be afraid of, Alya realised sheepishly. It was just a shadow puppet. She glared at Hohenheim, feeling silly.

"That wasn't funny, Hoho," she informed him. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that. It's rude."

The man chuckled and a second later, a warm wool cloak was dropped onto her head. "You look cold," he told her.

"Duh," Alya replied, her words muffled as she burrowed under the cloak. "The sun's going down. It's always cold at night here. Where were you, Hoho? You were gone for ages."

"Sketching," he replied with satisfaction as he squatted next to her and tossed a few more twigs onto the fire. "I found a very interesting mural on a wall near that spring you showed me. Incredible workmanship! Even with a thousand years of erosion by wind and sun, it still retains quite a big measure of legibility. Quite a find!"

As the alchemist continued to ramble on about different walls that he had found interesting, Alya tuned him out and curled up under the man's cloak, using the hood as a pillow.

At first, when she had found out what he was, Alya had feared the big alchemist. According to the priests he was one of the worst kind of sinners, sullying the world by his very existence. She had not said as much to him of course, since she had not wanted to make him angry at her. After all, he had already made a door disappear just by clapping his hands. She hadn't wanted to find out what he would do if he was angry. So as soon as he had put the door back she had fled.

To her surprise, the big alchemist had not chased her, or indeed, made any effort to find her. He had simply gone back to scribbling in his notebook as if she'd never been there. At first, the girl had stayed as far away from him as possible, but gradually her curiosity had overcome her fear and she had approached him again, her fears greatly assuaged by the fact that he was more than willing to share food and a fire with her.

Alya was aware that by associating with the alchemist she was doing something which the priests at home had said was forbidden, but then she had reasoned, why not stay around him? Who cared what the priests would have thought? They had already exiled her along with her mother and father. So what if she talked to an alchemist? What else could they do that they hadn't already done? How would they know anyway? It wasn't like there were any priests nearby.

Of course, Alya admitted, the priests had always said that when you did something bad Ishballa would know and punish you, but it had been so cold and she had been tired and hungry, so the young girl was willing to risk even Ishballa's wrath. Especially when Hohenheim had built a proper fire and offered her some dried beef jerky. It had been a long time since the girl had eaten meat that hadn't come from a small lizard or the desert rats and she hadn't been able to resist.

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning," the alchemist announced suddenly, jerking the girl out of her thoughts.

"Oh," she said in disappointment. "Are you going to come back?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I've learned everything I can from this place. It's time for me to move on."

"Oh," Alya said again. "I'll miss you," she admitted quietly.

Hohenheim shot her a sideways glance. "You could come with me, you know."

Alya blinked. "Come. . . with you?" she asked in surprise.

He shrugged. "I could use an assistant. You seem smart enough. Besides, I'll be travelling back through Ishbal. You could keep me from getting lost. How about it?"

"I- I can't," Alya protested. "I have to stay in the desert. I'm not allowed to go back to Ishbal."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Because the priest said so," the girl spluttered before she could stop herself.

Hohenheim nodded grimly, as if he'd expected that answer. "I thought so. You were exiled, weren't you? What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Alya said defensively. "It wasn't my fault! It was Dad who. . . " She trailed off, snapping her mouth shut.

Hohenheim gave her a speculative look. "Exile's quite a serious punishment. And to exile a criminal's family with him is rather . . . extreme."

"My Dad didn't hurt anyone!" Alya insisted, scowling at the blond alchemist.

"Ah," he said thoughtfully. "Then that would suggest that he broke a rather big religious taboo." He paused and looked at her sympathetically. "Your father tried to perform alchemy, didn't he?"

Alya looked away, burying her head in her hands. "I hate him," she muttered bitterly. "It's all his fault. He did alchemy and the priest said that me and Mama were unclean too. They made us walk out into the desert while Mama was sick. It was too hot and they didn't give us enough water. She died and it's all his fault!"

"What about your father?" Hohenheim asked quietly. "Where is he?"

Alya's lip trembled as she answered. "When we got here there was a trader caravan here as well. We were hungry and they had food. But . . . Dad didn't have any money." She paused, licking her dry, cracked lips and Hohenheim handed her a water flask. Alya took a gulp and continued, "They were people with slanty eyes, but they had blue-eye soldiers with them too."

"Blue-eye soldiers?" Hohenheim asked in surprise. _What were Amestrian soldiers doing out here with a Xingian trade caravan? _he wondered. _That doesn't make any sense._

Alya nodded. "When Dad went to ask for food they hit him," she whispered. "The slanty eyes didn't look happy, but they didn't do anything and the blue-eyes. . . they just kept hitting him."

She jumped as a big hand patted her shoulder. "It's alright," Hohenheim said quietly. "You don't have to talk about it anymore if you don't want to."

"They laughed," Alya whispered, tears running down her face. "He was screaming and they just kept laughing and saying. . . bad things. I hate them! I hate him! Why couldn't he have just left the stupid alchemy book alone?"

###

_Resembool._

Trisha Elric sat back on the rocking chair in her kitchen as the summer's evening sunlight streamed in the window and wished her headache would go away. The dull ache in her temple had been near constant for hours now and in combination with the cough she had picked up, it was making her feel downright miserable. Still, she thought, with the boys out of the house, it was quiet for the moment which was a bit of a relief.

Trisha had been quite surprised to see Corporal Mustang again so soon. To be honest, she hadn't completely believed he would return at all. It wasn't that she had thought his promise to her sons hadn't been sincere, but Trisha was aware that people had their own lives. It wouldn't be unreasonable for the soldier to forget about them once he reached his own home and became busy with his own affairs.

But she had to admit, it was good to see the dark-haired soldier again. Ed and Al had certainly become attached to him while he'd been recovering from his injuries, and really, it wasn't hard to see why. He was friendly, charming, and the fact that he was a skilled alchemist just made him all the more interesting to her alchemy-mad children.

Trisha herself had also become rather fond of him, but then, she supposed, that wasn't a surprise either. He had flirted with her exactly once, the first time they'd met, and once she'd stressed that she was married and therefore did not want such treatment, he'd treated her with nothing but the utmost respect. The fact that he'd also been more than willing, even determined, to help out around the house as much as he could even while injured had also endeared him to her.

But mostly it was the way Roy had treated Ed and Al which had earned Trisha's affection. She knew that in their excitement at having an actual trained alchemist in the house, they had pestered him more than a little with questions about different arrays and some complicated alchemic concepts that Trisha hadn't been able to follow. Not that she was unintelligent, but alchemy wasn't her thing and it had been frustrating to see her children get confused and not be able to help them.

So she had felt extremely grateful to Roy for not only patiently answering her sons' endless questions but also readily agreeing to help them practice their alchemy arrays. It had kept the two active children busy for hours and had allowed her to go about the housework in relative peace, (though Trisha had soon run out of places to put the handfuls of alchemically created flowers). She'd also been impressed by the fact that the soldier never raised his voice and seemed to easily ignore or deter Ed's occasional temper tantrums.

As her headache began to dissipate and she rose from her chair to get things ready for when the boys and Roy returned with the groceries, it occurred to Trisha that it was somewhat unusual to trust a relative stranger to spend so much time with one's children. But even though she acknowledged this, some instinct told her that there was nothing to worry about. Try as she might, she was unable to imagine Roy letting her boys come to any harm.

Trisha couldn't quite explain to herself why she felt able to trust him so much, but certainly part of it was that she could easily see that he was as fond of Ed and Al as they were of him and part of her rather approved of the fact that they seemed to look up to him. After all, with Hohenheim travelling and John Rockbell busy with his own family and work, it was no bad thing for the boys to have another responsible male figure around for a while, especially one who shared their interest in alchemy.

The grey-eyed woman smiled to herself and shook her head, dismissing such serious thoughts. It was getting late and her voluntary grocery shopper and his little helpers would be back any minute. In the normal course of things, Trisha would've made dinner earlier, but Roy's surprise visit had meant there wasn't enough food in the house for four and dinner had to be put off until the boys brought back the shopping.

Trisha began to open cupboards and pull out cups and plates, wondering idly how long it would take her to convince Ed to drink his milk today. She supposed, given that Roy was visiting, bribery might be a possibility this time.

The last time he had been here, Ed had certainly finished off his most disliked drink in record time when the older alchemist had promised a display. Then again, she didn't want to encourage a desire to play with fire in either of her sons, which thankfully, Roy seemed to understand and agree with. She had noticed that any questions about his particular speciality had been quickly headed off or given the 'I'll tell you in thirty years' answer.

As she set another plate on the table and turned back to the cupboard Trisha winced as her headache abruptly returned full force, accompanied by a wave of dizziness. Then, as the room seemed to spin around her and her vision blurred, she collapsed forward onto the floor.

 


	29. Information

Ed and Al looked up expectantly when Sakura entered the room. She smiled at the two boys and told them that their mother was feeling better, but was still asleep and that they could go and see her, so long as they were quiet. Then she took Mustang by the arm and led him outside.

"Well?" he asked, trying to keep the desperate hope he felt out of his voice, his mood quite at odds with the warm summer sunshine shining down on them.

Sakura sighed. "There's nothing I can do for her."

"But you said she was feeling better," Mustang replied, confused.

"I took away some of her pain," Sakura explained quietly, "not her illness."

Understanding dawned in the man's eyes and his expression sobered. "I see. How much time does she have, then?"

"Two months, maybe a week more," Sakura said. "I've seen this disease before, back in Xing. Mrs. Elric is already in the end stages of it."

"But she was fine two weeks ago!" Mustang protested.

"No, she wasn't," Sakura disagreed. "She just thought she was. That's the problem with this particular disease. It weakens and wears out the body over time, so slowly that the sufferer doesn't notice something is wrong. They just feel more tired than usual for a long period and typically attribute it to work, or lack of sleep or stress or what-have-you, when in fact their body's ability to fight off any sort of illness is slowly being destroyed. As long as the sufferer isn't exposed to any other illness, they're okay, if a little weak. But in the end catching even a mild cold could kill them."

Mustang put his hand over his eyes. "Pinako said there was a 'flu going around," he murmured to himself, sinking to the ground, utterly dejected. Dry, dusty dirt scattered and clung to his trousers as he sat back against the wall of the house, his head bowed in despair.

"I'm so sorry," Sakura said gently, as she crouched down and squeezed his arm. "I wish there was something I could do."

"What am I going to tell the boys?" he whispered. "What am I going to tell _Ed?_ I promised him I'd look after her."

"Sp- Roy," Sakura corrected herself, "there's no cure for this illness. It's not something you can fight. There's nothing you could've done. Nothing, do you understand? This is no one's fault."

"I should've- should've-"He trailed off, unable to put into words the feeling that there was something he could've done. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew he could have prevented this. _Should _have prevented it. "I should have done _something. _I-_"_

"Done what?" Sakura asked, cutting him off. "Magically cured her? There is nothing you could have done."

"I knew she wasn't well!" he snapped at her, covering his eyes with both hands. "I should have been here. If I was, I could have-"

The sudden stinging sensation in his cheek halted Mustang in mid-sentence. He looked up in surprise to see Sakura crouching next to him, her hand raised and poised to deliver another slap.

"Roy," Sakura said, taking his face in her hands before he could demand to know what she thought she was doing, "look at me. This is not your fault. No one is to blame. There is _nothing_ you could have done, do you hear me? Now get a hold of yourself. I'm sorry to be cruel, but you don't have the luxury of going into hysterics just yet. There are two children in there who are going to need you. Focus on that."

Mustang drew in a breath. "You're right," he admitted, pulling out of her grip. "I'm sorry. I- This was a shock. I'm all right now."

Sakura smiled sadly and she looked at him pityingly. "I seriously doubt that any man would be 'all right' after being told that his wife is dying, but I'll pretend to believe it if it makes you feel better. I know you need to grieve, but you can't afford to right now. The children are already very scared. Seeing their father in hysterics won't help."

Mustang blinked. "I- Trisha's- We aren't together," he said blankly.

Sakura stared. "You aren't?" the alkahestrist asked in some surprise. "I had assumed the children were your sons."

Now it was Mustang's turn to stare. "What? They don't resemble me at all. Why in the world would you think that?"

"By the Great Sage," Sakura muttered, shooting him a sideways glance. "You're actually serious. You really can't see why someone would think that?"

"Not in a million years," Mustang confirmed, still staring at her as if he though she was losing her mind.

Sakura shook her head. "Men," she muttered in mild exasperation.

###

Trisha groaned faintly as she opened her eyes. Her head ached and her throat felt raw and scratched, as if something was scraping it every time she took a breath. As she blinked her eyes and adjusted to the light, Trisha realised that she was in bed. She lay still for a few moments and then relaxed as memory returned and she worked out what must have happened.

She'd been feeling sick in the kitchen and had collapsed. Now she was in bed with a cool cloth across her forehead, and though her head did ache, the pain was far less intense than it had been. Presumably, Ed, Al and Roy had come home and found her in the kitchen. Roy must have carried her to her room she supposed, feeling a guilty twinge of disappointment that she'd been unconscious when a good looking man in metaphorical shining armour had been carrying her around.

Once she'd figured out most of what she'd apparently missed, a sudden, horrible thought occurred to Trisha. Ed and Al had gone to help Roy with the shopping. They might have seen her lying on the kitchen floor, dead to the world, when they came home.

However, before she had time to get worked up, the door creaked open a few inches and two small heads poked around it.

"Mom?" Al whispered. "Are you better now? We brought you water."

Trisha smiled at him and pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Of course sweetheart, I'm feeling much better," she promised, holding out her arms to the two boys, who promptly rushed over and clambered up on to the bed to hug her. "Are you and Ed all right?" she asked, taking a sip from the mug of water Al handed her and sighing in relief as it washed away the rawness in her throat. "You must have gotten a bit of a fright when you came home."

"We weren't scared," Ed insisted, also whispering. "Mister Roy and the alchemist lady took care of you. She said you were feeling better now."

"Alchemist lady?" Trisha asked curiously. "Who's that?"

"Her name's Sakura," Al explained. "We met her after we finished shopping. She's Mister Roy's friend. She knows how to use alchemy to make sick people feel better."

"Really?" Trisha asked in fascination, "that's incredible."

"Uh huh," Al agreed, "when we got home you were asleep on the floor and you didn't look so good, so Mister Roy dropped the shopping and ran back down the lane to get Miz Sakura. She walked home with us, but she didn't come the whole way."

"Mister Roy can run really fast," Ed told her, a very impressed expression on his face.

"I'm sure he can," Trisha smiled. "What happened then?"

"Miz Sakura and Mister Roy came back," Al interjected. "And then she did some sort of weird alchemy and your face stopped looking all white n' you stopped making scratchy noises. So Mister Roy lifted you up and put you to bed. And then Miz Sakura did some more alchemy and came out n' told us we could bring you water."

Ed scowled and wrinkled his nose. "Al thinks she's Mister Roy's girlfriend_._" His tone of voice indicated he was not happy with this possibility.

"Oh?" Trisha asked, interested despite herself. "Is she?"

Ed scowled. "No. He likes us better."

Trisha smiled and stroked her oldest son's hair. Little genius he might be, but she had a feeling he didn't quite understand what the word 'girlfriend' meant. "Ed, I'm sure that just because Roy has a girlfriend it doesn't mean he likes you any less."

Ed twisted his hands together. "Yeah, but if Mister Roy has a girlfriend, then he might get married to her."

"That's usually what boyfriends and girlfriends do, Ed," Trisha admitted.

"But then he might not want to come and see us anymore," Ed said quietly. "He'll be too busy."

"Oh Ed, I'm sure that's not true," Trisha assured him. "Why would you think that?"

"'Cos Jake Halley said it," Ed told her. "He said Mister Roy only stayed with us before because he was hurt and if he had anything else to do he wouldn't come back."

Inwardly, Trisha fumed. She had heard from Mary Rockbell, who had heard it from Winry, that little Jake Halley had deigned to compare her oldest son's beautiful golden eyes to cat pee. Ed had not told her himself, of course. The six-year-old would rather drink milk than admit there was anything wrong at school. Trisha had found out anyway and felt furious, but since Ed hadn't told her himself, there had been nothing she could really do.

"Well," she said, "has Jake Halley ever met Roy?"

"No," Ed answered. "He only knows about him 'cos his Mom saw us saying bye at the train station."

"Then how does he know what Roy would do?"

Ed's mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds as he tried to come up with an answer. Then he relaxed and grinned. "He wouldn't," Ed announced happily.

"Told you so, Brother," Al said triumphantly.

Ed stuck out his tongue.

###

Outside, Roy got to his feet and started to wipe the dust off of his clothes. "I should go get Doctor Rockbell," he announced reluctantly.

Sakura gave him another look full of pity. "Sparky, there's nothing a doctor could do that I haven't already. There's no point."

"Yes, there is. The Rockbells are Trisha's friends," he explained. "They should know what's happening. If she's really-" He paused, not wanting to say it aloud. "Someone has to take care of Ed and Al while Trisha is ill," he corrected himself.

"Ah," Sakura nodded understandingly. "Of course, forgive me, I just assumed-"

"That I didn't have confidence in your skills?"

"That you didn't want to accept that my diagnosis was right," she said.

"Mmm," Roy hummed, "can't blame you for thinking that I suppose." Then he turned to her, a serious look on his face. " If I run, I'll be gone just over half-an-hour. Will you look after everyone until I come back?"

"Of course," Sakura agreed. "You can count on me."

"You'd better be right about that," he replied, a slight edge in his voice. "I'm trusting you to look after people that I care about. Don't let me down."

Sakura was suddenly reminded of the fire-controlling warrior who had incinerated chimeras without blinking in the sewers under East City.

"You have my word," she said carefully.

This seemed to satisfy him and he nodded gratefully to her before jogging down the dusty lane that led to what passed for the main road. Sakura walked to the gate and watched him until he was out of sight before returning to the house.

As she waited inside the front room of the house, Sakura could hear the faint voices of the two children and their mother. Her eye caught on one of the photographs tacked onto the wall. It was a picture of all three Elrics, plus a pretty little blond girl the boys' age with deep blue eyes. Trisha, Al and the little girl were smiling brightly at the camera, but Edward was frowning, due in part, she suspected, to the death-grip that the little girl had on his arm.

Sakura stepped forward to get a closer look at the photographs. There were enough that some were partially covering others because of the lack of space and as she perused them the dark haired woman found what was probably the earliest one. In it, little Alphonse was barely more than a few months old, a pacifier still in his mouth and Edward looked perhaps a year and a half. He was being held by a man whose face was hidden by the corner of another photograph and he looked delighted, his mouth open and presumably in the middle of a happy baby-ish gurgle.

_Their father? _Sakura wondered, extremely interested to find out, since it appeared that Sparky was neither father nor step-father. Her theory concerning him had been once again adjusted and was currently pointed towards family friend or some sort of honorary uncle.

Carefully, Sakura lifted the corner of the obscuring photograph and looked beneath it. Her eyes widened at what she saw, although part of her was unsurprised. The face of the man in the photograph was just like Edwards: yellow-gold hair and bright golden eyes. Though, she noted, there was one major difference. Little Edward looked happy and at peace with the world. But the man who was almost certainly his father had tears running down his face.

"Who are you, I wonder?" Sakura murmured to the weeping man. "Why are you so upset? And where are you now?"

"Umm . . . Miz Sakura?" a voice behind her said suddenly. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

Sakura spun around, only to find Ed looking at her curiously.

"Of course Ed, what is it?"

"Mom fell asleep again," the little boy informed her worriedly . "Is that good?"

"Oh," Sakura murmured. "Is she sleeping normally Ed? Or is she making the scratchy sounds like before?" she asked carefully.

Ed thought for a moment. "Normal," he decided. "No scratchy noises."

"Then, yes," Sakura answered in a reassuring tone. "It means she's resting and getting her strength back. Sleep is good."

"So she'll be all better soon, right?"

Sakura froze, her mouth open. Though manipulating words was a standard part of her trade and usually came easily to her, for once she had no idea what to say. It was either a yes or no answer, but if she said yes, she would be giving the child false hope. Say no however, and she would break his heart. "It's too early to tell," she managed finally.

"Oh." The six-year-old fell silent for a moment. Then he looked around and asked, "where's Mister Roy?"

"He went to go get Doctor Rockbell," Sakura told him, glad they were back to questions which only required simple answers. "He'll be back soon. Where's your brother?"

Ed pointed towards the door. "He's staying with Mom, 'till I come back. We didn't want to leave her alone."

"Of course," Sakura said gently. "That's good thinking Ed."

As Ed beamed at her, an idea occurred to the dark-haired woman. "Ed," she said carefully, "you really like Roy, don't you?"

Ed nodded fervently. "Uh huh. He's great. He's really nice to Mom and he gave me a piggyback ride home and he showed me an' Al some cool alchemy and told us a great story and. . ."

As Ed continued to ramble on about one of his favourite adults, Sakura smiled and nodded and listened with great interest. "So," she said when Ed stopped for breath, "you just found Sparky in the middle of a field?"

Ed giggled at the nickname and nodded again. "Yup. And then he gave me a ride home. 'Cept he fell over and hit his head on the gate when we got here."

"Oh dear," Sakura commiserated, hiding a smile behind her hand. "Poor Mister Roy."

"Yeah. He falls over a lot. Granny Pinako says Mister Roy is acc-id-ent pr-one," Ed said, pronouncing the words carefully. "He even broke his arm when he fell on the road. But Al n' me made him a lucky horseshoe, so now he won't fall anymore."

"That was very nice of you boys. By the way," Sakura asked, idle interest in her voice, "what's Mister Roy's last name? He's never got around to telling me."

Ed scratched his head thoughtfully. "Ummm. . .oh yeah, it's Mustang, I think. I'm gonna go see Mom now, 'kay?"

"Of course," Sakura said, "off you go. I'll stay here and wait for Roy to come back with the doctor. But come and tell me if your mother starts feeling sick again, all right?"

"Sure," Ed agreed. "Thanks Sakura!"

"Well," Sakura murmured to herself as the boy dashed off to his mother's room, "isn't that an interesting coincidence. I don't think. And why, Mister Roy Mustang, are you so interested in people that you met not two weeks ago?"


	30. Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trisha's illness and it's symptoms are ones I completely made up out of cloth. Maybe I should have researched an actual disease, but I guess I just think that exactly which illness she has is less important than the fact that she is ill and dying. I'm not writing for House here, after all. So no bitching about it 'kay?

Of all the people John Rockbell might have expected to knock desperately on his door in the late hours of the evening, a sweaty, out-of-breath Roy Mustang was so far down the list that he might as well not be on it. Nevertheless, that was exactly who the bemused doctor found when he rushed to open the door at the sound of frantic knocking.

"Good grief," John exclaimed, taking in the soldier's exhausted appearance. "Mom told me you were back in Resembool. What. . . did you run all the way here?"

The other man nodded and then he sagged, hands on his knees, panting like he'd just run a marathon. "I need your help," he said, his voice hoarse and raw. "Trisha collapsed. She's dying."

John's mouth opened in shock. Then he grabbed hold of Mustang's arm and pulled him through the front doorway. "You sit down and get your breath back," he ordered, gesturing to a seat beside the door. "Give me a minute to get my emergency bag and then we'll get going."

Mustang nodded and sank gratefully onto the seat. "Hurry. Please."

Another door opened into the hallway and Winry's head poked out from behind it. "Who's there, Daddy?" the little girl asked curiously, before catching sight of Mustang sitting in the hallway and breathing hard. "Oh. Hello."

Mustang gave her a tired salute. "Little lady."

"Winry," her father asked, "would you go to the kitchen and get Mr. Mustang a glass of water?"

"Sure," Winry agreed, disappearing back through the doorway. "Mom!" the men heard her call. "Mister Mustang's here. I think Daddy needs his bag!"

A minute later, Winry and her mother came into the hallway, Sarah holding the brown satchel which John kept for emergencies, and Winry with a glass of water which she promptly handed to Mustang, who downed it in one gulp and then rose and headed for the door.

John shook his head, smiling. "Where would I be without you two?" he asked his wife as he explained the situation to her.

"Somewhere a great deal less organised, John Rockbell," Sarah answered, handing him the brown satchel. "Now go help Trisha."

"Already gone," John said, striding out the door a step behind Mustang. "Don't wait up for me."

###

It did not take long for the two men to make their way back to the Elric house, and once there, John regretfully agreed with Sakura (whom Mustang had quickly introduced as a work colleague) that Trisha's weak state could not solely be attributed to a bad case of the flu.

Once John had finished his examination of Trisha, he and Sakura had adjourned to the kitchen to discuss their diagnoses. "You are right," he said quietly to Sakura as they sat alone in the kitchen, waiting for Mustang to finish convincing Ed and Al to go to bed. "This illness is rare, but I have heard of it. In Amestris we call it Decker's Disease." He sighed. "Poor Trisha. Either she dies in a few days from the flu, or she recovers from that and then, provided she doesn't catch anything else, dies in a couple of months when the Decker's starts making her internal organs shut down."

Sakura nodded and took a sip of her tea. "We have another name for it in Xing, but the disease is definitely the same. Such a shame," she said. "What will happen to the boys?"

"My wife and I will look after them," John said firmly. "At least until their father returns. If he ever does," he added with a sigh.

Not Mr. Mustang?" Sakura asked. "I was under the impression that he was a friend of the family. He certainly seems close to all of them, especially the boys."

John shrugged. "Well, he knows their father and as I understand it, he asked Mr. Mustang to keep an eye on the boys for him. I don't think Trisha knew him before he turned up here about two weeks ago, but she takes to people quickly." His expression brightened slightly. "I should ask him if he has any way to contact Hohenheim. He didn't last time he was here but-"

"I still don't," Roy finished for him, his voice tired and drained as he entered the room. "If I did I'd be getting hold of him right now," he added.

"Are you alright?" John asked carefully, noticing an undercurrent of anger in the other man's tone. As he turned in his seat to look Roy in the face, both men missed seeing the surprised look briefly flicker across Sakura's face as she processed John's last sentence and half mouthed '_Hohe-'. _

Roy dropped himself into a chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm fine, just . . . ahh, I don't know, frustrated I guess. I shouldn't be here, Hohenheim should. And only God knows where he is right now."

"Do they know how bad it is?" Sakura asked Roy, nodding in the direction of the room where Ed and Al were sleeping.

He shook his head. "No. I couldn't tell them. I tried but-" He spread his hands guiltily. "I just couldn't. How do I even _begin_ to explain?"

"Perhaps you should just tell them the truth?" she suggested softly.

Roy gave her a sour look. "That's a great deal easier said than done. How exactly do you expect me to phrase it? 'Oh hi Ed, Al, nice to see you again, by the way, your mother's dying'. Oh yeah," he snapped, "that'll go down great."

"All right, all right," John said, holding up a hand as Sakura opened her mouth to retort. "Calm down both of you. You won't help anyone by sniping at each other."

Roy sighed and wiped a hand across his face. Seeing how tired he looked, Sakura relaxed slightly and decided to ignore his rudeness. It was just the stress and worry talking, she decided. "I don't think there's anything else I can do here," she announced, rising from her seat. "I have a room back at the Horse Inn. Since I paid for it, I should use it."

"Well, if you're staying here for the night to keep an eye on things?" John asked, looking at Mustang –he nodded- "then I'll escort you back to the village Miss Sakura."

"There's no need, Doctor Rockbell," Sakura assured him. "I'll be just fine on my own."

"I insist," John said. "It's dark now. I wouldn't feel right letting a lady walk all the way there on her own."

Sakura shrugged. "Well, alright then, I suppose it's no harm." She turned to Roy. "Goodnight then."

He grunted in answer, feeling too tired and drained to deal with her anymore. She rolled her eyes in response and then left, closing the door quietly behind her.

John gave him a quizzical look. "How exactly do you know her again?"

"We worked together," Roy answered shortly.

"Oh. Well, here," John said, handing him a small bottle. "Painkillers. Trisha's going to need them. Make sure she takes one when she wakes up in the morning, will you?"

Roy nodded. "I will. Thank you."

John smiled sadly. "Sarah and I will be over tomorrow. We'll see what else we can do to help. Take care of her for us until then."

Belatedly, Mustang remembered that the man in front of him wasn't just Trisha's doctor, but also her good friend. "Of course," he promised. "Whatever I can do."

John shook his hand and then followed Sakura out the door.

###

_The man opened his eyes to find himself once again surrounded in serene brightness which stretched in all directions. Once again, a feeling of well-being and peace seemed to wash over him, pervading the very air. The only sound he could hear in the calm silence of this ethereal realm was that of his own breathing. The simple beauty seemed by its very nature to say that any man fortunate to witness its majesty should feel blessed. _

_The man thought about all this. Then he nodded to himself. "_All right_," he yelled in an irritated tone, "_what is it **now,** you glorified excuse for a doorway_?"_

_The air before him shimmered and that which he knew to be the humanoid form of the Gate of Truth appeared. This time the glowing blue outline was that of a young child, instead of the woman he had seen before. "You should show us respect human," it warned him. "You are Our champion in this conflict, but once it is finished we will have no further use for you. Choose your words with care."_

"Oh shut up and get to the point_," the man snapped. "_I've had an incredibly bad day and I don't have time for your mystical crap right now. So say your piece and let me leave."

"_Why have you not journeyed to the Golden City, as We commanded?"_

_The man stared at the child-Gate. _"I don't know if it has escaped your notice, but I have better things to do right now. Trisha is dying! I can't leave the children alone and wander off to the Eastern Desert. Not now!"

_The child shrugged. "There is nothing you can do to save her. They have no need of you. You waste your time remaining there. Go to the Golden City."_

"No need of_-" he sputtered. "_You expect me to just abandon them? **Now**? Do you have **any **concept of human feeling?"

"_We are the Gate. We understand the concept of everything. We simply do not care. Do as you are required. Follow Our order and We shall be satisfied."_

"I've got some news for you_," the man snapped. "_I'm not **required** to do anything for you. And anyway," _he smirked_, "I never was all that good at following orders."

"_Is that so?" the glowing child image whispered cruelly. "We understood that you follow orders very well."_

_To the man's horror, a flickering image of slaughter appeared in front of him. A city with thin plumes of smoke rising from it, consumed by sudden devastating flames. The city vanished, replaced by two bloodstained bodies. A tattered photograph clutched tightly in a dead man's hand, while his wife's eyes, pale and clouded in death, stared sightlessly out at the man, asking why._

_The image vanished as suddenly as it had appeared and the man drew in a shaking breath. He turned to the child-gate, with it's grinning mouth and it's blank face. "_Don't. Ever. Do. That. Again,_" he snarled at it, his hands shaking with rage and shame. _"Do you hear me? You haven't the right!"

_The child-Gate shrugged. "That is your lookout human. Not Ours. Do as We commanded. That is best for all."_

"Damn you,_" the man hissed._

_The child-Gate's grin grew wider. "Many have, human. We still remain."_

_Brightness flared._

Roy Mustang woke up. Morning sunlight streamed in the window.

"Ahh damn," he muttered. "Guess I have a call to make."

###

_Central City_,

It was relatively early in the morning, and the streets of Central were not yet packed with people as the young Flame Alchemist and his invisible passenger made their way back to the city's military headquarters. The midsummer sun was shining down on the paved streets and the air seemed fresh and clear, but there was a fragrance in it that spoke of coming rain.

As he passed by an alley on his way down the street, a sound coming from within the shaded alley caught Roy's attention and he paused. The sound came again. It was a weak whine of misery, coming from a pile of rags next to some trash cans. Roy shook his head and was about to ignore it, when whatever was the source of the noise whined again. Curiosity won out and Roy stepped into the alley. He bent down, pushed aside the rags and promptly grinned.

The tiny puppy whined again. It was grey and white-furred, with a stubby tail, a nick in one ear and over-large eyes for it's face. Roy squinted at it and decided it could probably fit easily in one hand.

"Aww," he cooed, scratching it under the chin. "Hey there little guy."

As the puppy wriggled and stumbled forwards towards Roy, there was a sudden shimmer in the air and Ed appeared. _"What are you doing and why are you hanging around in a filthy alley when you should be heading to work?" _he asked curiously.

"Ed, look!" Roy exclaimed happily. "Isn't he great? Aww! Who's the best doggie ever?"

"_You found a dog,"_ Ed said flatly, although there was a slight hint are-you-kidding-me in his voice. "_Great, very interesting, now leave it and let's go."_

"It's a puppy!" Roy declared enthusiastically, completely ignoring him. "Aww," he cooed as the dog bumped it's nose against his hand, "who's a good dog? Who's a good boy? Who left you all alone? Poor little fella."

"_Oh for-," _Ed muttered as Roy continued to fuss over the tiny animal, slightly appalled that his host's conscious thoughts seemed to consist of : Look! A doggie!_ "What are you? Ten?"_

Roy sniffed disdainfully at him and picked the puppy up, scratching it's ears. "Just because you have no appreciation for man's best friend, doesn't mean the rest of us are as heartless. Look at him! He's so cute. Dogs are great. They're loyal and smart and they don't constantly shove photographs of their latest girlfriend in your face. I LOVE DOGS!"

Ed rolled his eyes. "_Gee Roy, think you could say that a little louder? I think there's people in North City who didn't hear you."_

"Quiet, you dog hater."

"_I am not a dog hater! What are you going to do with it anyway?" _Ed demanded._ "You can't keep it. You live in a shared dorm. No pets allowed."_

Roy hugged the puppy protectively. "Well, I don't know yet. Give me a chance to think of something. Anyway, I _can _hide him in the dorms for now. Hughes won't tell and the other guys wouldn't dare. They all think I'll burn them to a crisp if they look at me funny. Besides, look at him Ed! He's barely a few weeks old. He'll die if someone doesn't look after him."

"_Yeah, someone, but not __**us**__,"_ Ed protested._ "We have way too much work to do."_

It was at this moment Edward discovered, that against all expectations, Roy Mustang could do a very passable impression of a toddler who really, really wanted just one, tiny little cookie.

Ed sighed. _"I don't believe this. It's going to be Al and the kitten all over again, isn't it?"_ he muttered._ "I just hope you don't have to challenge anyone to a battle assessment. Right now, IronBlood would kick your ass."_

"What are you talking about?"

"_Never mind."_

Roy shrugged and went back to cooing at the puppy, who was currently trying to chew on his sleeve. "I think I'll call him Ed. He reminds me of you. He's just about as-"

"_If you dare make any reference to my height I will not rest until I've found a way to kill you."_

"Okay, okay."

"_Thank you."_

"I'll call him Tiny instead."

For a second it looked like Ed would go with the usual explosion of rage. But then he took a deep breath (or at least, given his current lack in that area, what _looked_ like a breath) and calmly said, "_You're going to be late for work."_

Roy blinked and then hauled out his silver watch. Ed was right. He had to get to Central Command in five minutes or he'd be spending the morning getting bawled out about the virtues of punctuality. So he stowed Tiny safely in his pocket and ran for it while Ed snickered unrepentantly.

###

Lily Samson both hated and loved her job. Hated it, because as one of the girls in Central Headquarters' communication department, she spent the whole day (wo)manning phones and taking messages for people who yelled at her as if they thought that would transmit their yell to the messages' intended recipient and loved it because, quite simply, there were a lot of opportunities to see good looking men in uniform. Like the one approaching her desk just now, for example.

"Ah! Major Mustang," Lily said happily as the dark-haired young man walked towards her. "There was a call for you earlier."

The Major nodded. "So I was told. You took the message?"

"Well, usually personal calls are discouraged," Lily told him with playful disapproval, fluttering her eyelashes hopefully, "but he said it was an emergency and he didn't know how else to contact you, so I took a note."

"Oh. Thank you. Who was it?" the Major asked.

"Oh, your brother Hugh in Resembool," Lily answered blithely. "He said it was a family emergency and that you could reach him at Edward's mechanic." Then she frowned slightly. Was it her imagination. . . or was the Major's pocket growling?

"I see," the Major answered her, turning a little pale. "Thank you miss." Then he turned on his heel and quickly walked away.

Lily sighed wistfully. It was a real shame when she didn't get more time to talk to the fine looking men, but at least she always got a good view. "Hot damn, that guy makes the old blue and gold look good," she sighed. "Maybe next time I can take a picture."

"Lily!" her friend Sasha said warningly as she hung up the phone and finished taking down a message, "you'll get fired if you start taking pictures of soldier's butts again!"

"Hey, I only got caught once," Lily said defensively.

"Yeah, but it was the _Fuhrer._"

"So what? He has a nice butt."


	31. Acceptance

Ed toyed with his spoon, letting the porridge dribble back into the bowl. Beside him, Al continued to shovel his breakfast into his mouth until Mister Roy told him to slow down and take a drink of his milk before he choked. Ed took a second to glare at his own glass of the disgusting liquid before returning to aimlessly stirring his porridge. Eventually he tried a mouthful of his breakfast and then grimaced. The porridge was much lumpier than usual and tasted far too salty. Mister Roy obviously needed to practice cooking more, Ed decided. His porridge was nowhere near as good as Mom's.

But in truth, it wasn't the less-than-good breakfast that was the cause of Ed's lack of appetite. Ed was trying his best not to let it show, but he was a little scared. When he and Al had woken up in the morning, Mom had still been asleep. Her face had gone pale again and her breathing sounded like she'd just run a really long race. But Mom had spent most of yesterday asleep, so that didn't make sense at all. Even if she was sick, he didn't understand how she could be so tired.

Last night too, when Mister Roy had told them to go to bed, Al had asked when Mom was going to be better and for a second Mister Roy had looked really sad. He'd opened his mouth and been about to say something, but then he'd changed his mind and told them not to worry. Ed didn't like that at all. If there really was nothing to be worried about and Mom was going to be fine, then why had Mister Roy looked so sad?

A large hand tousled Ed's hair, shaking out of his worried thoughts. "Eat up kiddo," a warm, deep voice said. "It'll go cold on you if you leave it much longer."

"But you told Al to slow down," Ed pointed out, looking up at the dark-haired man who was sat opposite him eating his own breakfast.

"Because he was eating too fast," Mister Roy explained with a smile, "whereas you are eating far too slow. Your breakfast will go cold and then you won't want it"

"So?" Ed asked.

"So, there are starving children in Creta who'd be more than happy to eat it," he was informed. "And besides," Mister Roy said, "I went to the bother of making that for you. The least you can do is finish it before it gets cold."

Ed supposed this was true, so he began to dig into the bowl of porridge. He didn't want to hurt Mister Roy's feelings after all. Maybe if he ate it fast enough, he wouldn't notice it was too salty.

Seeing Ed begin to finish off his breakfast, Mustang smiled approvingly. "By the way Ed," he added, "don't forget to drink your milk."

The dreaded word had barely left Mustang's mouth when Ed abruptly gagged and coughed in mid-swallow. His last mouthful of porridge hit Mustang square in the chest. Mustang looked at the half-chewed oatmeal dribbling down his shirt front and sighed.

"I didn't mean to!" Ed protested guiltily, once he'd gotten over his coughing fit. "Honest, Mister Roy, I didn't mean to!"

Alphonse took one look at his panicking brother and Mister Roy's resigned face and began to laugh at both of them.

###

When a knock came at the front door only a minute later, Mustang straightened slightly and took a breath before going to answer it. He knew it would be John and Sara Rockbell. And while he was now able to keep from turning into a nervous, nauseous wreck around them, he still didn't relish the thought of spending more time in their presence. Especially not with porridge still dribbling down his front.

_Get over yourself Roy, _he berated himself silently as he left the boys to their own devices in the kitchen for the moment and went to open the front door. _You can deal with this. Concentrate on helping Trisha._

Sure enough, John and Sara Rockbell were waiting right outside, both with a large bag, which Mustang suspected contained all kinds of medical necessities, in hand.

"Er, Roy," John said carefully, after Mustang greeted the Rockbells and ushered them inside, "you've got a little-"

"Porridge on my shirt," Mustang finished for him as he shut the door. "Yes. A testament to the fact that it is better to wait until after Ed has swallowed his food before you remind him to finish his milk. I intend to try cleaning it in a moment, but alas I fear my shirt may never recover."

"Oh dear," John said with a smile. "A crucial flaw in your brilliant strategy. Er, by the way, your lady friend said to tell you she was leaving. Something about having to go back to East in a hurry." Then his expression sobered. "How is Trisha?"

Mustang glanced towards the kitchen door before replying. "Not so good," he said softly. "She woke up early this morning in a lot of pain. I gave her the medicine you left last night and then she went back to sleep pretty soon after."

"That's not too much of a surprise," Sara assured him. "Those painkillers do cause drowsiness."

Mustang shook his head. "Drowsiness is one thing. This was another. She didn't seem just a little tired, she was exhausted. Didn't even wake up when the boys started looking for breakfast. Besides," he added worriedly, "she's far too pale, and her breathing doesn't sound right."

Sara's eyes narrowed. "Her breathing doesn't sound right? How exactly?"

"It's too. . ." Mustang wavered as he showed the two doctors to Trisha's room and then decided to settle on 'harsh'. "Like someone who's just run a race in the middle of summer and hasn't got around to taking a drink of water. She sounds like her throat is scratched raw."

"Oh. Yes I see," Sara said in understanding as she entered the bedroom and heard Trisha's harsh, laboured breathing for herself. She sat down next to the bed and put a hand to her friend's forehead to check her temperature. "John, she's got the beginnings of another fever," she announced, reaching for the cloth and jug of water that had been left on the bedside table from the previous night.

"Right," her husband acknowledged, quickly rummaging in his bag for an anti-pyretic. "Just a minute."

Sara looked back up at Mustang, who was still stood anxiously in the doorway. "Mr. Mustang, why don't you take the boys to see Winry and Pinako while we're here," she said gently. "It might be easier for everyone if they weren't in. . . " she paused and then finished, "the house right now."

_Translation: You think they might panic if they know just how ill Trisha is, and then get in the way, _Mustang thought. _And I hate to admit it, but you're probably right. _"Alright," he agreed. "We'll see you both later then."

When he entered the kitchen again, Mustang found Ed and Al slowly pulling a chair across the kitchen floor. "And what are you two little devils up to?" he enquired.

"We have to wash our bowls," Al announced, as if that should be obvious. "The sink is too high. Need a chair to reach it."

"Oh. That's very responsible of you two," Mustang praised them. The boys smiled up at him.

"You need to wash your bowl too, Mister Roy," Ed pointed out. "Look. It's still dirty."

"Yes, well, tell you what," Mustang said. "Why don't I take care of all the bowls and you two can go and put on your shoes and coats?"

"Are we goin' somewhere?" Ed asked in surprise.

"We're going to see Winry and Pinako," the dark-haired man replied, beginning to pour warm water into the sink. "There's no point in us being here while the doctors look after your mother. We'd only get bored. So we might as well go visit Winry and Pinako. Hand me your bowls, would you?"

"An' if the house is more quiet, Mom'll get more rest and feel better sooner too?" Al suggested.

Mustang smiled sadly at the boy. "Exactly Al," he said. "Well done."

###

By the time the children were ready to go, Mustang had finished clearing the remains of breakfast away, cleaned off his shirt and was in the spare room pulling on his own boots and the brown coat he'd been lent by the barman at Ivan's. Just as he finished lacing up his boots, Ed poked his head through the doorway.

"You ready to go Mister Roy?"

"Yes, are you two?"

Ed nodded. "Uh huh."

"Can we say bye to Mom first?" Al asked, also poking his head in.

"I don't see why not," Mustang said. "Come on then."

Quietly, the alchemist and the two boys made their way to Trisha's room, where John and Sara were having some success bringing the ill woman's fever down. Mustang noticed with some relief that her breathing also seemed to have improved and no longer sounded harsh and raw.

Ed and Al tip toed up to the edge of the bed and took their turn giving Trisha's hand a hopeful squeeze. "Bye Mom," they whispered in unison. "We're going' to see Winry. See you later."

For a moment, Trisha opened her eyes and smiled. "Bye Ed, bye Al," she said hoarsely. "Be nice to Winry." Then her eyes closed once more as she sank back into sleep.

"Time to go," Mustang murmured, taking both boys by the hand and leading them towards the door. He turned to John and Sara. "We'll see you later then. If anything happens. . ."

"I'll run right over and come get you all," John promised. "Goodbye Al, Ed. Have a nice time playing with Winry."

"Bye Mister Doctor Rockbell," the boys chorused and then repeated to Sara with the appropriate change. Then all three left, shutting all the doors quietly behind them.

###

Ed spent most of the walk to the Rockbell's house admiring Roy's long brown coat. "I'm gonna have a coat like that when I'm older," he announced as they walked down the road. "'Cept mine's gonna be red."

"Why red Brother?" Al wondered.

"Duh!" Ed replied. "'Cos red's a cooler colour an' it's easy to see. No one will bump into me. Even if they're," he paused and practically spat out, "taller than me."

Mustang shook his head and smirked. He'd always suspected there was a simple reason behind Fullmetal's garish choice of clothing. Now he knew.

Once they arrived at the Rockbell's, Ed and Al quickly began a game of tag with Winry. Mustang and Pinako sat on the front porch watching her chase them back and forth, a small toy wrench in her hand.

"Something on your mind, young man?" Pinako asked after a moment. Mustang's eyebrows shot up in surprise and Pinako snorted as she filled her tobacco pipe. "Oh don't look at me like that sonny. It's not hard to work out. You've been fidgeting since you sat down. What's the matter?"

"Ahh," Mustang began, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, "there's someone in Central that I need to call. I was wondering if I could use your phone?"

Pinako took a deep drag of her pipe and then blew out a smoke ring. "Make me a cup of tea while you're in there," –she nodded toward the kitchen- "and you can call anyone you want."

"Except hookers," the old lady added as Mustang began to thank her, causing him to splutter and choke.

Once he'd recovered himself, Mustang looked at her shrewdly. "You did that on purpose," he accused.

"I'm a frail old lady, not long for this world," Pinako said in a weak, quavering voice. Then she cackled. "I take amusement wherever I can find it."

"Evil old battleaxe," Mustang muttered as he made a bee-line for the telephone.

He was back minutes later, with the promised cup of tea and a slight frown on his face. "They weren't there?" Pinako asked, taking a sip.

"Busy apparently," he answered. "I left a message telling them to call back here within a few hours, I hope you don't mind."

Pinako shrugged and drank another sip of tea. "As long as it's not a hooker."

Mustang glared at her and the old lady cackled unrepentantly.

Half an hour later, just as Mustang was beginning to get dizzy from watching Winry chase the Elric brothers in constant circles, the phone rang.

"I suppose that's for you, young man," Pinako said. "Well go on, answer it. I'll keep an eye on the terrible two for you."

Mustang gave her a grateful smile and then headed into the house. "Hello," he said, picking up the ringing phone. "Rockbell residence."

"_It's me,_" said young Roy's voice. "_Is there news?"_

"Yes," Mustang answered slowly. "It's about Trisha. Is Ed listening?"

"_Yeah, he's here. He says to just tell him if his Mom will be alright."_

"I'm afraid not . . ."

###

_Central._

Outside the military headquarters, the young Flame Alchemist swore and dug in his pocket for another few cenz.

"_I take it you aren't using a military line, then,"_ the person on the other end said in amused tone. The serious aspect of their conversation dealt with, Mustang was now just checking how his younger self was doing.

"Of course not, using military lines for personal matters is against regulations," Roy answered him, puzzled. His fingers found another coin hidden in the folds of his pocket. "Aha!" he said triumphantly.

"_Right. So where are you calling from?"_

"The public phone in front of Central Command."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. _"Which one exactly,"_ Mustang asked.

"Umm, the one you can see from the men's bathroom on the second floor."

There was another hiss. "_Please don't use that phone booth again," _Mustang asked, an odd edge to his voice._ "Any other phone in Central, but not that one._"

"Um, okay, why?"

"_Because it's. . . bad. It's not a good phone. Just don't use it again, okay?_"

"Sure," Roy agreed. "Whatever you say. Well, goodbye then?" He looked at Ed and mouthed 'what's wrong with him?' Ed shrugged and mouthed back 'hell if I know'.

"_Goodbye,"_ Mustang answered and then there was a soft click as he hung up.

Roy set down the phone. "About the news," he began, "are you sure. . ."

Ed cut him off. _"I'm sure. Believe me, I'm sure."_ He looked at his friend's face and noted the hidden confusion. _"You don't get it, do you?"_ he asked softly.

"Well, no," Roy answered him carefully. "I just think that if I had a chance to see someone I loved again, that I'd take it."

Ed sighed. _"It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. All the shit I've gone through, losing my body, my brother, sacrificing my arm to get him back, fighting homunculi. All that, and the hardest thing that ever happened to me, was having to sit there and know that there wasn't anything I could do to save my Mom. I can't save her and I __**can't**__ just sit there while she dies in pain. I can bear anything else, but don't ask me to go to Resembool and watch her leave all over again."_

_###_

_Resembool._

Later that day, Sara Rockbell arrived back at her own house with the news that Trisha was once again up and about, so it was alright for Mustang to take the brothers home. John was still at the house when they got there, giving instructions for various medicines to Trisha as she sat back in her rocking chair in the kitchen.

Mustang regretfully them know that something important had come up and he had no choice but to leave on the next train. John, for some reason, decided to walk Mustang to the train station, insisting that Trisha was in no condition to go anywhere and that Ed and Al should stay with her and look after her.

"It's medication that treats the symptoms, not the disease," John explained as they stood at the station gate replying to Mustang's question of how Trisha's strength seemed to have greatly improved. "She'll feel better for a while but-"

"She's still dying," Mustang said, finishing the sentence for him. He picked up the rucksack that was lying at his feet "Damn it. If I didn't have to leave, I'd. . ." He trailed off and then muttered to himself, "be useless probably. She was right about that anyway. I can't magically cure anyone."

"Roy," John said carefully, "I'd like to ask you something I've been wondering about, if you don't mind. You don't have to answer me if you don't want to, but. . ."

Mustang regarded him thoughtfully. He recognised the tone of voice. John wanted to ask him something he thought might upset him. "Alright," he decided. "Ask away."

"When we first met," John said, "you woke up in the surgery and seemed terrified of me. Then you started apologising for something, though I still don't know what. Even now, you're still a bit twitchy around both me and Sara. We'd never seen you before, so it couldn't have been something we did that made you afraid. What happened, that you can't relax around us?

The man looked at him, and John got the distinct feeling that he was seeing someone else. "You remind me of someone I killed," he said quietly. "Someone who didn't deserve what happened to him. An innocent man who was only helping others."

"A doctor," John stated.

Mustang smiled bitterly. "Yes, and his wife too. They had a young daughter too, just like Winry. And I took both her parents away from her."

John looked at him with something approaching horror. "Why? They must have been non-combatants. Why would you kill them?"

"Because I was ordered to," Mustang said simply, self-loathing evident in his voice. "Failure to obey that order would've been seen as insubordination."

"Then you would've been executed," John said realised, "and someone else would've killed them anyway."

Mustang nodded. "Though I didn't even consider the last part," he admitted. "I was just a stupid kid, twenty-three years old and used to obeying orders. After that, I swore that I would never follow an unreasonable order again."

"So that's why you apologised to me in the surgery," John realised. "You thought I _was_ the same doctor, yes? Because of your concussion."

"Something like that, yes," Mustang murmured.

"Then, that's why you retired from the military?" John guessed.

"Part of it," the other man said, before adding bitterly, "I have no desire to kill any more innocent people just because some idiot higher up the command chain than me thinks they're inconvenient."

His piece said, Mustang swung the rucksack over his shoulder and looked in the direction of the station platform. "You're sure you want to go now?" John asked.

"I have to. It's something that can't be put off. I wasn't intending to stay in Resembool last night. So now I'm late and I've made someone powerful angry. I hate to leave, but for my own safety I have to go."

The doctor nodded. "I understand. If you happen to come across Hohenheim while you're travelling . . . "

"Then I will drag him back here by his ponytail if I have to," Mustang swore as the whistle sounded and a train pulled into the small station.


	32. Report

The sun was already setting when Sakura returned to East City. Dispensing with the dark green lady's outfit which she had worn on the train, she changed into her usual gray and brown work clothes and made her way back to her employer's residence. By the time she arrived, night had already fallen and the street lamps were lit, each one a tiny oasis of brightness among the shadows and darkness of the night in East City.

Sakura entered the large house by one of the servant's entrances and was unsurprised to find the butler Bentley already waiting for her. Try as she might, in over seven years, she had never caught him off guard.

"Miss Sakura," the old man greeted her with a polite bow, causing his dreadful toupee to wobble precariously. "Welcome home. The master desires to speak with you at your earliest convenience. He awaits you in the library."

"Thank you Bentley. I'll be there directly. Would you mind bringing me up a cup of tea?"

"Very good, Miss."

Sakura watched the old butler walk away in the direction of the kitchens for a moment and then headed for the library to make her report. When she pushed the library door open and peered in, she saw her employer in his customary place by the fire, once again staring moodily into the flames.

"Ah, Sakura," he greeted her as she walked in and gave a short, polite bow, a grin appearing on his face. "How did you get on is Resembool? Meet anyone interesting?"

Sakura glared at him. He had _known._ There was no way he couldn't have known. "You could have warned me he would be on the same train, old man," she snapped.

"Ah, by the time I found out it was too late," Mr. George defended himself. "Well?"

Sakura sighed and started to give her report. As she continued, he employer began to look thoughtful and Bentley arrived with the tea. "So," the old man murmured, as the butler handed each of them a steaming cup. "Our Sparky even has the same name as the newest State Alchemist. Or at least, so he claims."

"It would explain why he wouldn't tell you it," Sakura pointed out. "He must have known you'd be suspicious."

"Mmm," Mr. George agreed. "So he's more of a problem than I thought."

Sakura shook her head. "No," she said, shaking her head, "I don't think he is." She took a sip of her tea and sighed gratefully before adding: "Moving against him may prove unwise."

Mr. George cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? Do explain."

"When he asked about obscure alchemy and the east I thought it was something to do with Xing, but it isn't. He wanted to know about Xerxes."

"Why is that relevant? They were some ancient people who disappeared weren't they?"

Sakura allowed herself a brief satisfied smile. "One of the children I mentioned, the older one, Edward, is the spit image of a Xerxian. He has both golden hair and eyes."

Mr. George hissed. "A child with yellow eyes? Are you sure?"

Sakura gave him a flat look.

"Sorry," the old man apologised, "of course you're sure. But, this might mean-"

"That he is related to the renowned alchemist Hohenheim of Light?" Sakura suggested innocently. "A man who is also probably of Xerxian descent."

Mr. George narrowed his eyes at his smirking bodyguard. "Now why would you say that?" he asked. "You've never met Hohenheim. Have you?"

"No," Sakura admitted, continuing to smirk. "But his wife keeps a family picture on the kitchen wall, and her doctor flat out said that the children were his sons."

Mr. George blinked. "Oh. Well, thank you. Now unless you have anymore relevant information you may leave."

"Two things old man," Sakura said, her quiet tone surprising Mr. George. "Sparky mentioned Hohenheim himself, as someone to whom he owed a great debt."

"That's one thing. What's the second?"

"A warning," the scarred woman said in dead seriousness. "I saw the look on his face when he caught me following him in the street at Resembool. His hand was already in his glove. There is no doubt in my mind that he was ready to kill to protect those children."

"I do not condone hurting a child," Mr. George said stiffly, a whispering undercurrent of anger in his tone. "So I hardly think your warning applies to me."

"That is true," Sakura allowed, "but does _he _know you are not a threat to them?" She sighed, her voice becoming tired. "Old man, I have never in my life seen such controlled fury and capacity for destruction in one person. I simply suggest that you make him aware that you are absolutely no threat whatsoever to the people he seems determined to protect. Because I am sure if he suspects you have ever done anything to make their lives even slightly uncomfortable, then you will end your life as a pile of ashes and dust."

Her piece said, Sakura bowed once again and silently left the room as Mr. George gazed after her, smiling. "Don't we all?" he said. "Don't we all?"

"Yes, sir."

"Bentley, that was meant to be a deep rhetorical question."

"My apologies, sir."

Mr George shook his head and took a sip of his tea, grimacing slightly as he discovered that Bentley had once again over done the sugar. He carefully placed the cup back on the tea tray and pushed it to one side.

"So, Hohenheim had children," he muttered to his butler as they listened to Sakura's steps fade away down the corridor.

"It does seem so, sir," Bentley agreed.

"No wonder he didn't want me going near Resembool. And now it seems his wife is dying." Mr. George sighed. "Two boys that young are going to lose their mother. Such a shame."

"It seems to me as if the Corporal is their guardian, sir," Bentley suggested.

"Mmm. It must have been Hohenheim who told him about me. That explains a lot." Mr George was silent for a moment, gazing once more into the flames flickering in the library fireplace. Absently, he took a small toy car out of his pocket and began to turn it over on his hand.

"Sir?" Bentley asked. "Is something troubling you?"

"I wonder, Bentley, is it possible to change someone's face with alchemy."

"I could not possibly begin to comment, sir," the butler replied. "Are you perhaps thinking that the corporal's resemblance to the young master is due to alchemy, sir?"

"Possibly," Berthold mused. "But why? What is Hohenheim up to? Some sort of message to me, perhaps? In any case, we shall keep an eye on Sparky, but otherwise he's to be left alone. If Hohenheim did choose him as caretaker for his family, then it's in our best interest to keep him safe and healthy. And if Sakura is right, his only concern is protecting his master's family. He's not the threat I thought he was."

"Very good, sir."

###

_Liore._

"Train stops here sonny. If you want ta go any further east, you're goin' ta have ta walk."

"Thanks," Mustang said to the old station guard who had volunteered the information. "I don't suppose there's anyone I could hire transport from?"

"Doubt it," the guard said. "Th' land hereabouts is halfways to bein' a desert. Car 'd shut down and people won't risk their animals, not for one man lookin' to hitch a ride. Th' only way to get farther east is th' train and the military shut tha' down 'bout six months back when th' trouble in Ishbal started to get worse. No one's goin' east now."

"Great," Mustang muttered. "A nice long walk. Can't wait."

The station guard, a garrulous old man with a shock of white hair by the unfortunate name of Burkhart "Call me Groob" Gruber-Crowley, looked at him curiously. "Y' seem awful keen to get to Ishbal," he said. "There's a lot a trouble over there right now. Y'd be better off stayin' in Liore sonny, if y'll take an old man's advice."

Mustang smiled wryly. "Unfortunately, it's not up for debate. I have to get to the some ruin in the Eastern Desert as soon as possible."

"Ah," Groob nodded understandingly. "Yer one of those crazy historical types. 'Shoulda guessed. Ye' certainly look th' part in that fancy lookin' coat. We had another o' yer type through here last week. Indy somethin'-or-other. Started with a J anyways. Ye know him, maybe?"

"I'm afraid not," Mustang answered. He looked around the station. "You're sure I can't find anyone to take me east?"

"Sure as shootin' sonny. Sorry."

Mustang nodded in resignation. "Alright. Well in that case can you point me towards some place I can spend the night. Someplace with at least marginally reasonable rates."

Groob smiled, showing off a mouth full of dentures. "Sure can sonny. Turn right till ye come to th' main street and then turn left and go straight on. Ye'll see a sign tha' says Gloria's. Tell the lan'lady Groob sent ye'. She'll put ye' up for th' night."

Mustang thanked him and headed off. Gloria's turned out to be a small, decently clean hostel, run by the titular Gloria, heavy-set woman in her fifties who took one look at the travel-stained alchemist and yelled for her kitchen help to bring him a bowl of soup. Once informed that he been sent by Groob, the motherly woman chuckled and informed Mustang that he'd been speaking to her brother.

As promised, Gloria's rates for a bed for the night were very good and the beds themselves were surprisingly comfortable. Still, Mustang found sleeping almost impossible. The heat of the semi-desert was becoming oppressive, even with the window open and the words of the Gate kept echoing in his mind, refusing to let his brain slow down to sleep. Eventually, he gave up on sleep and pulled out his notebook and a pencil and began to jot down the facts that he was sure of.

Fact one: He was now ninety-nine percent sure that the 'Golden City' the Gate had mentioned was the ruins of Ancient Xerxes, and from Sakura's description of the Xerxian race, 'the last of their people' was almost certainly Hohenheim of Light.

Fact two: According to Ed, Hohenheim was in fact four-hundred years old and the maker of the original philosopher's stone which he had used to prolong his life.

Fact three: The main city of Xerxes vanished in a single night. Where did it go? Probably into a philosopher's stone.

Problem: Xerxes vanished a thousand years ago. Hohenheim is six hundred years too young to be Xerxian.

Hypothesis: A lot of the earlier history of the world was missing, lost in myth and legend, or wilfully destroyed by a certain crazy old hag and her homunculi henchmen to keep the rest of humanity from realising what she was up to. Perhaps not all the people of Xerxes perished? Hohenheim might be a descendant of a survivor?

Solution:

(i) Find Hohenheim.

(ii)Debate whether the satisfaction of punching him in the face for helping/ ignoring a crazy old hag while she screwed up the country and abandoning his family for a stupid reason is worth making the most powerful alchemist in the world angry.

(iia) If it isn't, don't punch him until after step (iii)

(iib) If it is, punch him. Hard. He may not get angry. If so, go to step (iii). If he does, go directly to step (iv)

(iii) Ask him about Xerxes. Proceed to step (v)

(iv)Run away. Find a wall to hide behind. Then ask about Xerxes. Then go to step (v)

(v)Drag him back to Resembool.

Of course, Mustang admitted as he looked over what he'd written, this all assumed that Hohenheim was still at Xerxes, or that he'd gone there in the first place. What if he'd left already? That raised another question that made Mustang's insides squirm. If he had obeyed the Gate and gone directly to Xerxes, would he have found Hohenheim already? Would he have been able to already bring the man back to his family? By insisting on going to Resembool first, had he missed his chance at finding Ed and Al's father.

Unable to answer the last question, Mustang closed the notebook and lay back. His head started to ache and it was some time before he was able to fall asleep.

###

Envy howled. He'd been trapped so long, stuck in the mind of a man he despised and he had long ago lost patience. Despite his best efforts he had not been able to make Mustang hear him again. The thoughts of his host were cut-off and muffled as if behind a thick wall and he'd taken to ignoring them. Neither was he able to keep complete awareness of what was going on in the world outside.

But lately, Envy had begun to pay attention again. A certain name, which he hated beyond everything else in the world, had been reoccurring in the thoughts that he could hear lately. Flame-boy was spending a lot of time thinking about Envy's creator and former father and the homunculus had been desperate to find out why.

Was Hohenheim out there right now, he wondered. Had Mustang seen him? Or spoken to him? Was the bastard right next to him?

Furiously, he beat at the mental walls imprisoning him. "Let me out!" he howled. "Let me out, you damn disgusting human!"

As always, there was no answer. This time, he knew, it wasn't just because the man couldn't hear him. The muffled sound of thought had faded completely and now there was only a muted buzz. Mustang was sleeping.

The mind was weaker when it was asleep and unguarded, surely? There must be a way, must be something he could do to get through. Envy growled in frustration. If only he could hear what Mustang had been thinking again. He'd definitely be able to find some way to influence the damned pyromaniac.

He slammed against the mental wall again.

No result.

Finally, Envy lost what little temper he had left. "You're one human!" he roared, beating as hard as he could against the walls which kept him trapped. "I am a homunculus! I am faster than you, stronger than you, more intelligent than you and three hundred and sixty-eight years older than you! LET. ME. OUT!"

Something shifted. Envy froze in surprise.

Then the world spun upside down and went black. When he came to, Envy gasped for air, breathing hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. He lay still for a moment and tried to catch his breath.

Then it hit him.

He was _breathing._ The air was too hot. The cloth against his skin was too sticky. He was sweating.

Sensation and feeling poured into Envy. After so much time spent only with thought, it was almost overwhelming. The room began to spin and he shivered uncontrollably. Breathing became difficult. But Envy held on desperately. He was finally free of his prison and determined to hold on to this new state of being. He wasn't going to go back!

Slowly, his body relaxed. The spinning stopped and breathing became much easier. Envy sat up and looked down at himself. A human body, well-muscled and fit. Short hair, by the feel of it, thick and black. Then he looked down at his hands. Blood coloured tattoos adorned both hands.

Envy began to smile. He stood up and looked in the small mirror on the wall.

The Flame Alchemist's face smiled back at him.

The homunculus looked around the room and spotted a small notebook on the bedside cupboard. Picking it up curiously, he began to flick through it.

"Well now," Envy murmured, reading the last entry in notebook. "This is interesting."


	33. Nightmare

The room was small and cramped, with barely enough room for a bed and chair. It certainly wasn't meant to house two young men. Not even, the doctor thought, if one of those men was a growing boy, and the other, who despite barely fitting in the bed, was a very thin, very ill, young man. But then, it wasn't really an unusual situation these days, the doctor thought. Living conditions had been worse for the whole country since the end of the war.

The healthier of the two had offered the chair to the dark-eyed doctor, so that he could at least sit while examining his patient.

"Anything you can do, Bastard?" the golden haired man asked, before coughing harshly while the doctor listened to his heartbeat. Flecks of blood appeared on his lips.

The doctor stared. "What?"

"Oh," the invalid said, his already flushed face gaining even more red on the cheeks. "But you're not him, are you? I forgot, sorry."

"Quite alright," the doctor assured him, wondering who his patient had confused him with. "My patients have called me much worse things."

The ill man let out a cracked, rasping laugh. "I bet they have," he wheezed. "I bet they h-" His words trailed off into a coughing fit and his brother knelt down to steady him.

"Please Brother, try to rest," the boy implored. "Don't push yourself."

He helped his brother lie back carefully and stood again. "Well?" he asked, eyes not leaving his brother's face. "What do we do? How do I make Brother better?"

"I'm sorry," the doctor said, squeezing the younger brother's shoulder apologetically. "I've never seen an illness like this before. There's nothing I can do."

The boy turned to him, tears flowing down his face. "Please," he begged. "He's my only brother, my only family. There must be something you can do to help him! Please!"

"Leave him alone Al," the man in the bed rasped, turning a wide, fevered golden eye towards him. "'s not his fault. I shoulda remembered what happened to Huskisson's miners. Should've been . . . more . . . careful," he whispered.

"Ed!" the boy cried in horror as the young man's wrists slackened and his eyes glazed over. "Brother, wake up!"

There was no reply. Nor breath. Or heartbeat.

"Brother!"

Snap-

Mustang blinked and rubbed at his remaining eye, shading it from the harsh sunshine. Everything went temporarily dark and he scowled inwardly. The way he could be completely blinded so easily, by bright sunlight shining in his face, or the glare of it against other objects was one of the things he hated the most about his injury. It was all too easy for him to be completely disabled now. He glared out at the snow and pulled his greatcoat tighter.

"General?" a voice asked suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

Mustang swung around and found himself face to face with Edward Elric. Eighteen years old, long golden hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed in a brown coat and suit and looking looking as if he could actually pass as a respectable young man.

"Ed?" he asked in surprise. "What are you doing here? You should be. . ." He paused. "Somewhere else? Shouldn't you?"

Ed looked at him, a hurt expression on his face. "Why didn't you save us?" he said sadly.

"Ed?" Mustang asked again, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Why didn't you save us?" Ed repeated. "Why did you let me die?"

"Die? Ed, what are you talking about?" Mustang demanded as he felt panic begin to rise. He stepped forward, reaching out to Ed, and to his horror his hand passed right through the young man's shoulder.

Neither Ed's tone or expression changed. "You promised me. You promised. Why didn't you save us?"

"Ed, what are you talking about? What's happened to you?"

Ed gazed at him, hurt and confusion still written all over his face. "You promised," he whispered disconsolately, looking for all the world like a scared child. "You promised me you'd protect us. Why did you let me die?"

"No!" he cried, reaching out desperately towards the man looking at him with betrayed eyes as he faded slowly away. "I didn-"

Snap-

The Colonel groaned as he woke up. "Ugh," he muttered, casting an eye over his paperwork littered desk. "Is there no end to this pestilential form signing?" he wondered.

"Avoiding work again, Colonel?" someone asked mockingly. Mustang looked up.

"Fullmetal," he sighed. "Do you have a report to hand me, or are just here to amuse yourself?"

Fullmetal was sprawled across the office couch, the familiar cocky grin on his face. "Don't ask me Colonel," he shrugged. "'s not like I know anything. You're the one who let me die."

"What?" Mustang stared at his most aggravating subordinate. "Fullmetal, what rubbish are you going on about?"

The teen sat up and smiled. "Don't you remember, Colonel?" he asked in a sing-song voice. "You got so angry that I didn't come to you for protection. But then you let me die anyway." He laughed. "I always knew I couldn't trust you."

"Of course you couldn't," another voice agreed, and Mustang almost fell out of his chair.

"Hughes? What are you doing here?"

Mustang's best friend grinned at him. "Being dead. Dying wasn't a lot of fun, but actually being dead isn't so bad. It's restful."

"Hughes," Mustang said in shock, "what are you two playing at? How are you _here_? What are you talking about?"

Hughes smiled. "You," he said cheerfully, tossing his knife from hand to hand. "Ed's right. He couldn't trust you. How can anyone trust a man who won't save his best friend. I followed you, supported you, loved you like a brother, and what did I get? Attacked by a monster and left to die in a phone booth. What a crappy way to go."

"No," Mustang denied, leaping to his feet. "That's not- It wasn't my fault, Maes. I didn't know that would happen, I swear!"

Hughes smiled condescendingly. "Of course you did. You knew that what you were doing was dangerous and you dragged me right into it. Then, not content with orphaning my daughter, you also failed to protect my sons. Or at least," he added, laying a hand on Fullmetal's shoulder and smiling paternally, "they would have been my sons. They would have had a real family and parents who loved them. But you just couldn't help screwing that up for them too."

"That isn't true! I would never-"

"Of course it, sir," a new voice said.

Mustang spun on his heel and found Lieutenant Hawkeye standing at his desk, a pile of paperwork in her hands. "What- Hawkeye?"

"It's a wonder I only got away with being shot," Hawkeye said evenly. "Maybe it was for the best that you abandoned me to feel sorry for yourself for two years. Who knows what would have happened if you'd stayed. After all, the second you came back, you abandoned me again. Did you ever care about me at all, Roy?"

"Haw- _Riza,_" he said brokenly. "Of course I cared for you. You know I've always-"

"I dunno, Lieutenant," Hughes interrupted. "He didn't get you killed after all. That's really what you need to get into the Roy Mustang Hall of Guilt. I guess he was just stringing you along."

"Maes, _please._"

Ed laughed happily. "Wow, Colonel, you really suck, don't you? I can't believe I was such an idiot. Y'know, even after three years, I still wanted to hear you say you were proud of me. Just once. I wouldn't have admitted it, but it would have made me so happy. What a joke."

"Ed, I-"

The boy held up a white gloved hand. "I don't want to hear it," he sing-song-ed. He looked up at Hughes, still standing beside him and tossing his knife. "Make him go away," the boy asked childishly. "Make him go away Hughes, he's horrible to me."

Hughes smiled and stroked Ed's hair. "Of course Ed. You and the lieutenant can help too if you want."

Mustang choked as Hawkeye aimed her gun at him with a look of quiet satisfaction. "Riza, no!"

Ed smiled gleefully. "My turn," he sang, clapping his hands. Blue light sparked and raced towards Mustang, throwing up the floor boards.

Hughes grinned. "That's my boy," he said proudly, and tossed his knife.

_Snap-_

"Mister Roy?"

Mustang woke, breathing hard and shoved himself off the ground. He looked around in a panic and then relaxed. He was in the Elric's back yard in Resembool. Young Ed was standing in front of him, six years old and tiny. _Just dreams,_ he thought in relief. _Just dreams._

Mister Roy?" Ed repeated.

"Yes, Ed?" he answered, still smiling in pure relief. "What is it?"

"Why did you let Mom die?"

Mustang's mouth dropped open. "Why did I what?" he asked, flabbergasted.

"The Gate gave you so much power," the small child said. "You could have saved her if you tried. Why didn't you save my Mom?"

"Ed, that's not what-" he began.

Ed looked up at him, tears in his eyes. "Don't you care about us, Mister Roy? You said everything would be alright. You said you'd come back. You _promised._"

"I did come back," Mustang protested. "I did."

"But then you left again," Ed said sadly as the tears began to trickle down his face. "You left when Mom got sick. We needed you and you left."

The child paused and coughed. Overhead the sky darkened.

Mustang caught Ed's arms. "Ed," he assured the child. "I didn't want to leave, I swear. But I had to. I will come back. I promise."

"But why did you leave?" Ed wept. "Why did you go away? You went away, Mom got sick, Dad went away. Why does everybody leave?" He gripped Mustang's sleeves in his small hands. "Is there something wrong with me? Is that why everybody leaves?"

"Oh, Ed no," Mustang said, feeling horrified. "There's nothing wrong with you." He picked the small boy up and hugged him close. "Nothing."

Ed tilted his head and coughed again. "Then why do I feel so bad?" he cried. He began to shake. "I hurt, Mister Roy. Everything hurts!"

Mustang watched in horror as Ed continued to cough and shake and blood came from the child's mouth, staining his shirt as he cried. Above them thunder started to rumble and then lighting flashed. In seconds, Mustang found himself standing with Ed in the middle of a down pour. Desperately, he covered the child with his coat to keep him warm, but it didn't seem to have any effect. Ed began to grow cold, still shaking and shivering in Mustang's arms.

The alchemist started to run, looking around him in a panic for shelter. But there was none to be had. The house and garden had vanished and around them there was nothing but empty fields. Still, he ran on, desperation fuelling his body.

There's got to be somewhere I can take him. He's so cold! How can someone so little be so cold?

Ed whimpered in pain and coughed again. Bright blood trickled down Mustang's neck. "Hush, Ed," he whispered. "Try not to cough, okay?"

"It hurts," the child cried quietly. "Make it stop. Please Mister Roy, make it stop."

"I will, I promise. Everything will be okay, I promise."

Behind him, someone laughed. "What do you know about promises, Flame Colonel?" a nastily familiar voice asked. "You can never keep yours. Everyone you promise something to ends up dead."

Mustang spun around as lighting flashed again, illuminating a thin figure half dressed in the middle of the ferocious storm, spiky, green tinged hair unencumbered by the rain. "Envy," he snarled. "You did this!"

"Me?" the homunculus laughed cruelly. "No, no, Flame, this is all _your _doing. But I'd be more worried about the pipsqueak than me if I were you. My, my, he doesn't look good at all."

"Don't you dare speak of him," the Flame Alchemist spat. "Don't even think about touching him!"

Envy laughed again. "Why would I ever want to touch that piece of filth, Mustang? He's only good to me if I can wring his neck. But it doesn't seem as if I'll have to. From the looks of things, he's not going to last very long.

Ed coughed again and more blood stained Mustang's clothes and face. Then he fell silent, his small body growing slack.

"Aw look," Envy cooed. "My baby brother's dead. Well, it's about time."

Mustang choked and snapped his gaze towards the small boy in his arms. Ed's eyes were closed and his lips were blue. There was no feeling of a small chest rising and falling. Just small, dead, weight.

Mustang screamed.

Snap- Do not let the abomination win! Your will and your mind is your own! Take back that which is yours!Wake up Roy Mustang! Wake up Flame Alchemist!

_Snap-_

Mustang looked down at the small body in his arms. Then he looked at Envy. The homunculus' eyes widened at the rage in the alchemist's face.

"This," Mustang stated calmly, "is not real. And I will not let it become real. I will not let you take the people I love away from me again."

He pulled a dry glove from his pocket.

There was one, very final, _snap._


	34. Preparation

_Liore,_

Mustang awoke to find himself on the floor of his room in Gloria’s Inn, his hands aching and throbbing in pain. When he looked, he found that the tattoos on the backs of his hands had changed colour. They were no longer the sickly brown-red of dried blood. Instead they were bright shining things, the colour of yellow gold.

He stared briefly, turning his hands back and forth as the pain faded. The sunlight shining in the window struck them, and for a moment the lines and circles seemed to glow as he watched. Then the memory of the previous night’s dreams returned, wrenching him out of his wondering stare, and the glow disappeared as Mustang shuddered in horror.

“Okay Roy,” he muttered to himself, “time to face reality. There was _something _in your head last night. Whether or not it was a homunculus is up for debate, but there was definitely something there. Based on last night’s little horror show, it may or may not be gone. So-”

A knock at the door interrupted Mustang’s conversation with himself.

When he opened it, Mustang found the hostel’s owner Gloria with her hand upraised, ready to knock again. She smiled at him.

“Good morning! I’m sorry to disturb you, but we do require guests to have left by twelve o’ clock,” the landlady announced. “It’s half eleven now,” she added, seeing Mustang’s confused expression.

Mustang blinked. Half eleven? He’d slept that late? _Well, if you could call last night’s activities sleep_, he thought wryly.

“I’ll be up and out in ten minutes, Ma’am,” he assured the grey-haired woman, before turning around in search of his rucksack.

When he turned back to the door, Gloria was still standing there, the look on her face somewhere between concerned and sheepish.

Mustang raised an eyebrow. “Something I can help you with, Ma’am?”

“Not to pry,” she said, “but, er, there wasn’t any. . . trouble, was there? The guest in the room next to you said he’d heard noises during the night. Someone shouting, he said.”

“Really?” Mustang replied, widening his eyes in apparent confusion. “That’s odd. I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Oh,” Gloria said awkwardly. “Well, I’m sure it was nothing then. Perhaps the poor boy was imagining things. He was very tired when he came in.”

“That’s probably it,” he agreed. “Now, how much do I owe you?”

###

In his little corner of the Flame Alchemist’s mind, Envy cursed venomously. He had been so close! He had actually been in control of his host’s body, ready to go out and wreak absolute havoc on the unsuspecting world, only to have it wrenched away from him. He had thought Mustang was trapped permanently in his own nightmares, only to have the man toss him out on his ass when Envy had entered the dream to torment him.

_Still, _he comforted himself, _at least I know that it’s possible now._ _I’ve done it once, so I can do it again. I just need to wait for the optimum time, so that when I take control of this body, the human **won’t** be able to take it back. And then Hohenheim, I’ll kill you. After I kill the pipsqueak and the tin can while you and Flame-boy watch._

The night hadn’t been a total loss, the homunculus decided. After all, the brief free pass into the mind of his host had resulted in him gleaning quite a bit of knowledge. Such as the fact that the Fullmetal Alchemist was still hanging around. Dead, ghostly and ethereal (which Envy rejoiced in knowing), but still a damn sight more free than the homunculus was, considering Elric apparently had the ability to speak to both versions of the Flame Alchemist face to face.

This was going to make things tricky, Envy decided. From what he’d seen in Mustang’s memories, the younger Flame Alchemist appeared to be a naïve moron, but with the older pipsqueak backing him up, the blasted pyromaniac was likely to become more dangerous and inconvenient to Danté’s plan much faster than the version that Envy was stuck with had.

Envy let out a frustrated mental sigh.

###

In the end, after several hours wandering aimlessly around Liore looking for anyone headed east, Mustang figured that his best chance of finding a guide east to Ishbal and then to Xerxes was to go back and talk to Groob, the old station guard. The old man had struck him as one of those people who, if they didn’t know someone who could help, then at least knew someone else who did.

It was almost dark by the time he reached the station again, but Groob was still there, and sure enough, the old man was able to point him in the direction of a local tavern, whose barman was an old friend of Groob’s and Groob assured him, ‘ a never endin’ fountain o’ information, sonny. He’ll set ye right’.

So Mustang made his way to the Green Lion and asked for Carl, who turned out to be an old man clearly made from the same mould as Groob: cheerful, slightly drunk and fond of talk.

It took the old barman perhaps an hour to find someone travelling east, during which Mustang made the most of the fact that he was currently in a bar and treated himself to a long awaited drink of alcohol. The beer wasn’t particularly strong and was rather bitterer than he’d have liked, but since he’d not been able to stop for a drink since being in Central, Mustang made do.

He was almost finished it when Carl caught his eye and gestured towards a table near the back of the room. Mustang nodded back, drained the last of his drink and walked over to the table with Carl following him, while the old man’s son, who had been lounging on a stool in the corner, covered the bar for his father.

“This is Damon,” Carl announced, introducing Mustang to the dark-skinned man sitting at the table. He was a bespectacled man in his mid-to-late twenties, with the signature white hair and red eyes of his people. “He an’ his brother are headin’ home t’Ishbal tomorrow mornin’. Damon, this is Roy. He’s lookin’ to find someone to travel east with. He’s interested in them ruins out in the Eastern Desert.”

“The ruins of Xerxes?” Damon asked enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up. “Truly? It’s a pleasure to meet a fellow scholar. I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Roy.”

Mustang nodded genially, but decided that this was probably _not_ the best time to offer his alchemically tattooed hands for a shake. “Pleasure’s all mine,” he said with a smile. “You’re quite a ways from home, aren’t you?”

Damon nodded. “Yes. I came west to study the Amestrian culture and to find out more about alchemy if I could as well. The texts back home are woefully lacking in information.”

Mustang looked at him in surprise. “I was given to understand that the Ishbalan people believe alchemy to be ungodly.”

“Most do. But I believe in studying all knowledge,” Damon laughed. “Not just that which the priests think is worthy. I’ve never been very religious.” He looked around mock-furtively. “But don’t tell my younger brother that.”

“Ah. He _is _religious, I take it?”

“Studying to become one of the Dei’Ka,” Damon admitted with a grin.

“The warrior priests,” Mustang remembered, doing his best to suppress a shudder at the word. The Dei’Ka, Ishbal’s order of warrior priests had been by far the most skilled and most vicious of the Ishbalan fighters during the civil war. One had once come within a hairsbreadth of taking Mustang’s head off with a scimitar. He’d survived the encounter only because of Hawkeye’s almost inhuman aiming skills.

“Exactly,” Damon said cheerfully, blind to Mustang’s sudden unease. “Don’t worry, he won’t lecture at you much. As long as you’re not an alchemist, anyway. You’re not, are you?”

“No,” Mustang lied, quickly shoving his conspicuously tattooed hands in his pockets. He made a mental note to buy a plain pair of gloves, or at least find some strips of cloth to wrap around his hands. “Just a historian with too much time on his hands who’s interested in the Xerxian ruins.”

“Aw. Shame,” Damon grinned playfully. “I’d like the chance to speak to a real alchemist. I haven’t been able to find any in this town. You know, I described some alchemy to the people here and they thought I was talking about magic. Kinda nuts, huh?”

“Crazy,” Mustang agreed.

“I suppose it’s probably just as well,” Damon said regretfully. “Little brother would have had a fit if he’d caught me talking to an alchemist.” He looked past Mustang’s shoulder and grinned broadly. “And here he comes now. Hello Brother. Look! I’ve found us a travelling companion. He’s on his way east to study the ruins of Xerxes. Isn’t that fascinating?”

There was a noncommittal grunt from behind Mustang and he turned to look at his other prospective travelling companion . . . and froze.

Mustang knew that it was difficult for humans to tell individuals in other races apart, the way they would the people of the race they were raised amongst. He was usually better at it than others, though. Even so, the Ishbalan race was an exception for him. After the Civil War, Ishbalan faces in his memories tend to be conflated in a mass of accusing red eyes and screams for mercy and howls of hatred.

But Damon’s younger brother’s face was still unmistakeable, even a decade younger and missing the pale x-shape across his forehead.

It was Scar.

###

“Good evening, Ma’am.”

Gloria looked up from the table that she was cleaning and found a large blond-bearded man smiling at her hopefully. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of his aftershave wafted towards her, and then wondered why a man with such an impressive beard was using aftershave.

“I’m sorry to arrive here so late,” he said apologetically, “but the child and I have only just arrived in town and we have nowhere to stay. I wonder if you could perhaps provide us with lodging?” He indicated a young Ishbalan girl who was standing shyly behind him.

Gloria looked the girl over suspiciously. “Separate rooms?” she asked as innocently as possible.

“Please,” the man answered, anger creeping into his voice. “We’ve just come across the desert and my assistant badly needs some rest.” He stressed the girl’s status meaningfully, narrowing his eyes at the hostel owner.

Gloria flushed in embarrassment. “Of course, of course, no trouble,” she assured him placatingly. “Just a moment please.”

As she turned away to fetch the requested sets of room keys, Gloria heard the girl ask, “Why was she looking at me funny?”

“I’m sure I have no idea, child,” the blond man replied quickly. He sounded just about as awkward as Gloria felt.

“Yes you do!” the girl insisted. “You just don’t want to tell me. And I thought you said you were going to stop calling me child. My name is Alya!”

“And my name is not Heimy, yet you insist upon calling me that,” the man pointed out tranquilly.

“But when I asked, you said that was better than Hoho!”

The man identified as Heimy let out a long-suffering sigh.

###

_Central,_

Fuhrer King Bradley stood in his office in Central Command and looked out the window, surveying the flow and ebb of the human tide around the military’s headquarters. Beside him, an old woman sat in an armchair, a cup of tea and a saucer to hand.

“So, Master,” the Fuhrer asked, “What did you think of this year’s candidates?”

Danté hummed. “They were . . . interesting,” she decided. “That young rogue Kimbley was certainly promising. He could help advance my plans for Ishbal a great deal. Yes, indeed. When the time is right, you will be able to wield that particular weapon with devastating force.”

Bradley nodded. “What about the Mustang boy?” he asked. “His talents are impressive, no? Not to mention they could be just as effective against crowds as Kimbley’s, if not more so.”

Danté nodded thoughtfully. “True . . . but there is something . . . odd about him as well.”

“What do you mean, Master?”

Danté tilted her head to the side and squinted at the distant setting sun. “I am . . . unsure,” she admitted. “Just that when I saw him during the State Examinations, something felt . . .off.”

“Should I have one of the others keep an eye on him?” Bradley asked.

Danté let out a ladylike snort. “My dear, since we lost the last Lust, ‘the others’ consist of Envy and Gluttony, and dear Envy is busy in the north having fun with the Drachmans. That just leaves Gluttony. So, no. Leave young Mustang alone for now. I do not want such a promising boy to be killed and eaten just yet.”

Bradley bowed. “As you wish, Master.”.


End file.
